


A Wanderer Be

by thingsishouldntbedoing



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cell Phones, Family Secrets, Intrigue, M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsishouldntbedoing/pseuds/thingsishouldntbedoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If texting was the modern love story then Bilbo wanted no part of it. Losing his new phone to a stranger with beautiful eyes and a mysterious history wasn’t something he’d wanted a part of either.</p><p>But there it is and here he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [malvinnia](http://malvinnia.tumblr.com/) for being an absolutely wonderful and patient beta.
> 
> Check me out on [tumblr](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)
> 
> Late in a wilderness  
> 
> 
> I shared his mess,  
> 
> 
> For he had hardships seen,  
> 
> 
> And I a wanderer been;  
> 
> 
> He was my bosom friend, and I was his. 
> 
> -Henry David Thoreau

“This is _absolutely_ ridiculous,” he muttered as he pulled his jacket on and started out the door amidst the shrieking alarms. “Fourth time this week! If this is someone’s idea of a joke I will have them-” the doors to the exterior banged open and he trudged unhappily outside.  
  
“Fourth time this week!” A familiar voice echoed him and he sighed, falling in beside the odd old man that lived down the hall from him.  
  
“Indeed, it seems someone cannot contain their delight for annoying _everyone,_ including but not limited to _the police_.” Bilbo huffed and pulled his jacket tighter around himself.  
  
The last person to emerge from the building caught Bilbo’s eye: a tall man with a thick, well kept beard and a beanie pulled down over his ears. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the man before, but he was certain that if he had he would have remembered him - striking as he was with a sharp, angular nose and eyes so blue Bilbo wondered if it was a trick of the light.

“I saw him too,” Gandalf said agreeably. “Quite the bear of a man, yes?”  
  
“What? Who?” Bilbo blinked. “Oh…” he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate and he clasped a hand over it.  
  
He wasn’t sure why the eyes seemed so unsettling or why two slightly shorter young men had gathered close to speak excitedly to the one he was watching… but he _felt_ it must have had something to do with the phone.

The _accursed_ phone.

 

* * *

  

It had begun two weeks before on the Tube.

He’d been fussing with the phone his nephew had bought him, angered by the overly simplified touch screen and desperately missing the soothing buttons and tough shell of his ancient flip phone.  
  
“All I want to do is _text_. ‘ _Look Uncle Bilbo, this phone does all these fancy things you don’t care about but **I,**_ _Frodo, think they are important. Please accept my gift’.”_ He mocked his nephew’s voice, jabbing at the screen again as he stood.  
  
"Oh... sorry..." He bumped into another passenger when the train stopped and looked up into a pair of bright blue eyes. There were fine wrinkles at their corners, the edges of color so clear he wasn't sure there was a word for it. He was _striking_ in the way that a beautiful stag or a bear was; fierce and powerful and proud. Bilbo wasn't sure what it was... he supposed it could have been the mane of dark hair streaked with silver or the untamed beard, or the fact that he seemed _too-tall_ for the train - of course it might also have been the long, pale, scar on his forehead above his brow.  
  
“It’s… quite alright,” the train jerked, moving forward, and Bilbo lost his footing, crashing into the man in front of him. “ _Hell_ ,” the sound of something hitting the ground drew his attention and he scrambled to catch his phone before it tumbled away.  
  
“Careful,” a hand caught his shoulder to cease his momentum, keeping him from falling flat on his face in his race to the phone, a second object clattering after him.  
  
“It’s fine,” Bilbo smiled. Another phone had fallen down beside his and the man opened his hand, accepting the dark case from Bilbo’s fingers and tucking it into his pocket. “It’s… confound these miserable contraptions, yes?” He said nervously and shoved the phone into his bag, clearing his throat. “Thanks… for keeping me from making an ass of myself.”  
  
“It’s fine,” he might have sipped a glass of whiskey as smooth as his savior’s voice once.  
  
“Th-This is my stop…” Bilbo gestured, as if he owed the stranger any explanation. “Thanks?” He turned around and hurried off through the doors, cursing his luck as he stepped onto the platform.  
  
It wasn’t until he was nearly to his office that he bothered to check his phone at all, and only to glance at the time.  
  
 _What?_  
  
He found himself staring blankly at the screen, trying to adjust to this new reality, and stopped short to give closer examination. The background picture of the phone was obscured by a grey sheen -- and a text from a person whose name he didn’t recognize.  
  
 **Kíli -** ** _Mum wants to know what time ur plane comes in at?_**

“Mum?” He blinked at the message. “ _Whose_ mum _?_ ” He stamped his feet for a moment, certain that the students passing by him were looking at him curiously.

 _This must be a trick._  
  
He decided that was exactly it and Frodo had put some ridiculous names into his phone and told his friends to send him even _more_ ridiculous messages. _Yes_. That was it entirely.  
  
He trudged off towards the building his classroom was in, a student falling into step with him to discuss the term paper that he was _certain_ he had assigned three months back -- not that it stopped them from trying. He was a professor, not a babysitter, and he didn’t have time to deal with their shenanigans.

 

* * *

 

 

The stranger, on the other hand, had noticed almost immediately that something wasn’t right, sliding his phone from his pocket to check his texts, since it was highly unlikely that he would have changed the wallpaper to a picture of rolling green hills in the time since he had last checked his phone.  
  
 _Whose phone do I have?_ His thoughts darted to the man from the train with his worried grey eyes and boyish features.  
  
He slid the lock open and chuckled at finding that it lacked a passcode, grimacing at the little red bubbles attached to a good number of icons. He supposed there was nothing else to do beyond call his own phone and inform the possessor that they were both quite out of luck.  
  
Unfortunately after two attempted phone calls he sighed and resigned himself to calling his nephew instead.  
  
“Hello?” A tired voice came over the line and he scoffed.  
  
“It’s half past noon, Fíli.”  
  
“Uncle Thorin!” His voice brightened immediately and Thorin smiled to himself. “What’s this number you’re calling from?” He heard Fíli sit up, heard the sounds of the younger brother asking questions in the background.  
  
“Ah… a friend’s phone. I think it best you don’t text or call my regular number for a while until I get there to talk to you. Try to get that message out as best you can?”  
  
“Alright! Oh hold on, Mum wants to--” the phone was placed down and he could hear the dulcet tones of his younger sister and her boys bickering about the topic of the hour.  
  
“Hello Thorin _darling_ ,” she finally said with much rustling. “The boys will be there to pick you up, I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it to see you.”  
  
“It’s fine, I can see you in the morning,” he smiled into the screen. “Really, don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Alright! But I’ll have dinner waiting to be warmed up, don’t let the boys torture you too much.”  
  
“I’ll try not to.”  
  
“Are you okay to be travelling?” The concern spilled into his chest and turned down the corners of his mouth.  
  
“I’m fine, thanks, _Mum_.”  
  
A few more exchanges and he left his sister to her brood, slipping his freshly stolen phone into his pocket and heading to the security checkpoint.

 

* * *

 

When Bilbo checked his phone again, after several long hours of sifting through the paperwork littering his usually neat desk, he found he had a good number of missed calls from a strangely familiar number…  
  
“How could my phone be calling itself?” He asked what might have been, upon further consideration, one of the dumbest things to have ever parted his lips -- and thanked _God_ no one had been around to hear it.

 _I have someone else’s phone?_  
  
He frowned down at the screen before sliding his finger across to open it -- as his nephew had taught him -- immediately faced with a series of unfamiliar round buttons.

 _Touch ID or Enter Passcode_ the thing prompted him, neither of which he had available, so he did what came most naturally to him and began to touch numbers randomly through sheer frustration.  
  
“How am I supposed to use you if you don’t--” the phone vibrated in his palm and his own phone number appeared on the screen once more. _Shit._

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve ended up with my phone,” a smooth voice came over the line -- _ah yes_ it was certainly the man from the train.  
  
“You’ve ended up with mine!” Bilbo said, once again feeling a little stupid at just how low he’d sunk since finals had begun. Reading several hundred literature analyses by freshmen students could melt anyone’s brain.  
  
“Compelling argument. Unfortunately, you didn’t answer my phone calls before I left for my sister’s in Glasgow.”  
  
“I was -- fairly certain I had my own phone! How did you get into it anyway? You didn’t look through my pictures, did you!?”  
  
“Why? Have a porn folder saved?” The playfulness on the stranger’s voice was blatant, but that didn’t stop it from irking his ire.  
  
“I -- do _not!_ What is wrong with you?” Bilbo huffed, offended. “When will you be back? I need my phone!”  
  
What he really meant was that _Frodo_ would never forgive him for losing his phone after only a week.  
  
“Two weeks. I’ll try to have it shipped to you, if you’d like?”  
  
“ _Two weeks_?” Bilbo howled. “Yes! Yes please ship it to me? I can send yours whenever you want… although…” he hesitated.  
  
“Two-seven-seven-zero.”  
  
“Come again?”  
  
“That’s the passcode to the phone, since I’m certain you can’t survive without one for a while?”  
  
“I… no. I suppose not…” he grumbled. “Two-seven-seven-zero?”  
  
“That’s correct. My name is _Thorin_ by the way.”  
  
“Thor--oh uh mine’s Bilbo Baggins, pleased to… well not _really_ pleased considering the circumstances, but…”  
  
“Yes, I understand,” the man gave a rumble of a laugh. “I’ll send the phone as soon as Christmas is over, yes?”  
  
“Yes, yes best not to have it lost in the parcel post,” he nodded against the phone.  
  
An awkward silence fell between them, the conversation hanging by a threat spinning precariously over spikes. Bilbo rustled with some papers, clearing his throat, waiting for _something_.  
  
“Well enjoy my phone while you have it. Don’t go sifting through my things, yes?” Thorin asked.  
  
“Of course not! And same to you!” Bilbo hesitated once more, “Happy Christmas.”  
  
“And to you.”  
  
With that the line went dead and Bilbo slumped into the chair at his desk with a sigh, upsetting paperwork onto the floor.

_What a week to have my phone taken._

 

* * *

 

Lines, queues, and _waiting._ The three things he hated most in life. He had been impetuous as a boy and that had only been stoked by the military; _hurry up and wait_ was the motto of any post he had been on. So, instead, he let a woman pass by him and reached up to pull his bag down from the overhead, heaving it over his shoulder, and made his way into the terminal -- not waiting for anything any longer.  
  
“Uncle!” He heard his nephews before he saw them, and felt the burn in his eyes when a blond teenager leapt into his unhindered arm. He dropped his bag to accept the younger, darker brother into his grasp and held them tightly.  
  
“I missed you so much,” he buried his face between their necks, feeling the eyes of curious passers-by and caring little.  
  
“I told you he’d cry!” The blond whimpered and Thorin gave a rough laugh, smothered by their scarves. Fíli had always been the more calm and collected, being the older brother, and it broke Thorin’s heart to have him trembling in his arms -- but it broke him more to have the brunet’s pitiful moans of sadness muffled against his jacket.  
  
He didn’t want to let them go, feeling their ribs beneath his fingers and the weight of their bodies against his -- real and firm and believable. He wanted to hold them there and press them against him until they were safe and protected from the world, until he could shield them from all the evils he had faced in his life.  
  
“We wanted to come see you!” Kíli sobbed when Thorin finally released them. “Here let me!” He dove down to wipe his face and pick up Thorin’s discarded bag.  
  
“I know, boys,” Thorin wanted to laugh at how stupid they must have looked: three grown men sobbing over each other in the airport. “How’s school?”  
  
“Kíli passed his exams,” Fíli sniffed, laughing when Thorin caught the ponytail on the back of his head.  
  
“What the hell is this?” Thorin growled playfully.  
  
“We’re both growing our hair out!” Kíli said and Thorin dropped his arm around the boy’s shoulders.  
  
“Are you? And these scruffy things?” Thorin tickled his fingers under Fíli’s chin.  
  
“Not everyone looks like a _tramp_ Uncle. Some of us have properly groomed faces.”  
  
“You might properly _shave_ this peach fuzz off, yeah?” Thorin pinched his ear.  
  
“You look like a bear, Uncle,” Kíli told him. “Huge and hairy, like you came down from the mountain.”  
  
“I did come from the mountains, just not the ones you’re thinking of,” Thorin wiggled him. “Did you bring the car? Or are you forcing your grouchy old uncle onto the bus?”  
  
“Car! Fíli passed his test last month!” Kíli boasted.  
  
“Well if that doesn’t make you the greatest terror to ever hold car keys in your hand. Give them to me,” he wiggled his fingers.  
  
“Mum said you weren’t to drive! That you’re to rest!” Kíli protested in replace of his brother.  
  
“Allow me to lay down some truth for you, gentlemen, _Mum_ is not always right. Now cough them up.”

* * *

 

He nearly slipped on the stairs leading up into his flat, catching himself on the railing and desperately trying to save his bag before it hit the ground. After the day he’d had it wasn’t surprising that he’d nearly fall up the stairs as well.  
  
“Bilbo?” His nephew was at his side in moments, laughing. “Uncle, you have to be more careful!”  
  
“What’re you laughing about, daft boy?” Bilbo let him take his bag, clapping Frodo on the shoulder.  
  
“Good evening, Mr. Bilbo,” the youth at the top of the stairs greeted him, blonde hair curled and clinging to his brow.  
  
“Oh dear, Samwise, that must mean we have an entire houseful of little demons, eh?” Bilbo chortled and followed them up the stairs. “Have you boys already raided the pantry?”  
  
“ _Pillaged_ might be a better word, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam corrected, grinning.  
  
“Bilbo!” A pair of blonds met him at the door, the taller looking like the cat that ate the canary. “What a fine day to see you here!”  
  
“Meriadoc! I won’t have the two of you blocking my door,” Bilbo wagged his finger. “We’re not doing this again.”  
  
“You probably should reconsider coming inside,” the shorter informed him.  
  
“And you, Peregrin Took, should remove yourself from my door frame before I remove you _physically._ ”  
  
It was good, after a day of grading papers and arguing with students about when their papers were due, to be embraced by his nephew and his friends and nearly dragged into the house for eggnog and cake. 

He wished all college students were like the ones currently lounging around his living room, watching from the kitchen as he cleaned up the mess they’d made after, ever so kindly, making dinner for him. Frodo’s friends always seemed to find their way to his home, he’d known them for years after all, and they had become more a part of the family than anything else.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Mr. Bilbo?” The chubby boy from before offered and Bilbo smiled in response.  
  
“No, Sam, but thank you very much.”

“I could at least finish the dishes?”  
  
“Oh, very well, I’m sure you won’t stop until I allow it,” Bilbo gestured at the sink and dried his hands. “At least _someone_ cleans up after himself.”  
  
“Uncle Bilbo!” He heard his name from the den and padded out to look at his nephew. “You haven’t answered any of my texts today, as per usual, but did you see my question about the theatre tickets?”  
  
“Theatre tickets? What theatre tickets?” Bilbo frowned. “Oh! Frodo I--” he ducked out of the way of a pillow thrown his way. “Why?!”  
  
“Because I bought you that phone so I could communicate with you! Not for you to pretend it’s a paperweight!”  
  
 _It’s about as useful as a paperweight right now._  
  
“Well actually… about that…”  
  
“Bilbo! You didn’t lose it!” Pippin sat upright, nearly colliding heads with Merry on his way.  
  
“No, I didn’t, I know where it is.”  
  
“So then, _where_ is it?” Frodo arched an eyebrow.  
  
“It’s _safe_.” At least he hoped it was. “I ran into someone on the train today and he accidentally took my phone.”  
  
“Oh? Bilbo, you’re okay with that?! Why’re you so calm?” Pippin cried.  
  
“There’s nothing of import on that phone besides pictures and he seems nice enough, he’s sending it back to me after Christmas.” Bilbo cleared his throat. “Regardless, that is none of your business, except Frodo -- please don’t text my phone for right now.”  
  
The uproar that followed had him waving them off and retreating to the couch, shoving Frodo’s feet out of the way to sit down. He relaxed a little, propping his heels onto the coffee table, and pulled out Thorin’s phone to examine it.  
  
 _What an odd coincidence._

He smiled to himself, running his fingers over the leather, blinking the brightness away when the phone vibrated with a text from his own number -

 **(020) 7546-2941 -** **_Hope you’re not reading this_ **

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo stared at the message on the bright little screen a moment longer, slapping the hand away that tried to draw his attention by pushing popcorn at his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to post the second chapter since I don't think the first one works well on its own.
> 
> Texting Key  
>  **Bilbo**  
>  **  
>  _Thorin_  
> **
> 
> HUGE thanks to [malvinnia](http://malvinnia.tumblr.com/) for being a wonderful beta.
> 
> Check me out on [tumblr](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/).

The drive home was filled with shouting and laughter between the brothers, a sound Thorin had missed on his long months away. He could thrive on the sound of his nephews, on how Kíli asked him about where he had been and what he had done with all the tact of a blunt knife.  
  
He could tell, from the way they spoke, that their mother had warned them not to press him. It was a pleasurable thought, one that made warmth spread out into his chest, that for once someone cared enough not to poke and prod at him for answers - insincere in their requests for information as if it might help him.

“Can we see your scars?” Kíli asked, eyes on Thorin’s forehead.  
  
“Why are boys always so interested in scars?” He pulled his bag from the back only to have it snatched up by Fíli. “Yes... I suppose so. After dinner you may have the honor.”  
  
“Yes! Are they badass?” Kíli asked. “I bet they’re badass. You’re a badass.”  
  
“You know, I didn’t hear you call me a badass the first time - do you think you could say it again?” Thorin said as he followed his nephews to the front door.  
  
Being back in his childhood home had nostalgia washing over him and he stopped to run his fingers over the old wood of the entry table, remembering how he had done it so many times before. He had been sent from his home in Glasgow to schooling in London -- and every time he’d returned he’d traced his hand over the antique just inside the door.  
  
“Hardly anything has changed,” Thorin said fondly. His sister had kept their family’s antiques, adding and modifying furniture through the years as needed, but everything was comfortable enough to make him feel at home.  
  
“Mum doesn’t like change much,” Fíli shrugged.  
  
“So much so that she’s threatened to cut off our heads to keep us from getting any taller,” Kíli bounded up the stairs. “We made your room up already, Uncle!”  
  
“Thank you, Kíli,” he was certain that ‘ _we made your room up_ ’ was equivalent to ‘ _our mother did it for you and we’re taking credit_ ’ but that didn’t stop the flicker of a smile.  
  
Thorin pulled his jacket off, hanging it on a hook, and slipped Bilbo’s phone into his jeans pocket.  
  
“Mum’s got dinner in the kitchen! She said we could help ourselves!” Kíli was back down the stairs in a heartbeat, sliding on the rug by the door.  
  
“She made your favorites!” Fíli caught his elbow and dragged him down the hall.  
  
Before he knew it, he had been shoved into a chair and his sister’s sons had set about warming the food she’d prepared for them, arguing and talking all the while. He smiled as he watched them, seeing how much they had grown in the past months since they had last been together.  
  
Dís had come to see him in the hospital after it had happened and she had been by his side - a doctor by trade - from the moment he woke. Without her input he would have never recovered, he was sure of that, for there was little trust in him for the fresh faced residents or their overseers. The boys had been old enough to stay on their own together for a few days, and each time she came, she told him of their desire to see him - but he wouldn’t allow it.

His body had been broken and bloodied and bruised afterwards, the last thing he had wanted them to see was his struggle back to normalcy, he would rather they know him whole and happy again.  
  
“Are you happy?” The words swam at him from the silence of his thoughts and he lifted his eyes.  
  
“Am I happy? Of course I am, Kíli.” He offered a smile, pushing up his sleeves and leaning forward at the table.  
  
“You just… didn’t look happy just then…” the brunet was standing across from him, dark eyes curious and warm. Strands of hair hung from his small ponytail, clinging to the light beard on his cheeks and giving him a distinctly careworn look that Thorin chuckled at.  
  
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m just enjoying your company. I missed you both, very much.”  
  
“Later we’re going to watch Jurassic Park, okay?”  
  
“What, no Star Wars this time?” Thorin joked. “That’s too bad.”  
  
“We can watch Star Wars if you want!” Kíli offered, eager to please.  
  
“Kíli he’s messing with you,” Fíli told him, knocking him playfully on the back of his head. “Get the potatoes, eh?”  
  
“Oh, alright,” Kíli sighed.  
  
Thorin could see, in the way his youngest nephew lingered, how much his decision might have hurt them -- but the thought of appearing weak before them had been too much, the thought of scarring them with his own wounds… no - _this_ was better.  
  
And when he finally relented to Kíli’s curiosity and pulled his shirt off to expose the angry scars on his shoulder and chest, he _almost_ regretted everything, hating the concern and fear in Kíli’s eyes and the way a muscle in Fíli’s jaw tightened - so similar to his own.

 

* * *

   

“What’re these?” Frodo rifled through the papers Bilbo had set down on the dinner table, shoveling shepard’s pie into his mouth.  
  
“First year papers,” Bilbo answered, slapping his fingers away. “You don’t get to look through them!”  
  
“Remember that one year you read one out loud?” Pippin asked. “The one about -”  
  
“Yes, I think we _all_ remember that one.” Bilbo said.  
  
“Or the one comparing Hamlet to Star Wars!” Merry said.  
  
“That one was-”  
  
“And every year at least _one_ person writes about The Raven,” Frodo had shoved his fork between his teeth and was reading one of the top papers.  
  
“Frodo Baggins, put that paper down!” Bilbo slapped it onto the table to a roar of laughter. “Going to get me fired one of these days,” he grumbled.  
  
“So we’re going to marathon Christmas movies tonight,” Bilbo looked up at Pippin, frowning slightly. “Is that okay?”  
  
“Have I _ever_ disagreed to watching every Christmas movie under the sun?”

He wasn’t sure when he’d become the guardian of an entire squadron of 20 year old college students, but he almost preferred the bustle of herding small children around the house. He found Frodo’s eyes and smiled warmly when his nephew offered one in return, reaching out to touch the side of Frodo’s face.  
  
“I’m glad you’re here, Bilbo,” he said softly.  
  
“It’s my house, where did you think I’d be?” But he knew what the boy was referring to, smile fading into a twitch of his lips.  
  
“You know we don’t _have_ to watch the Christmas movies?” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“You boys do what you want. I will make due,” he patted Frodo’s cheek. “Besides, after _Sam_ managed to make such a delectable dinner it’s hard to imagine myself complaining about _much_ tonight.”

 

* * *

 

There was a long moment of quiet between them, wherein Thorin felt utterly scrutinized. The quiet was unsettling, but not entirely uncomfortable -- this was a different scrutiny than the one he’d been subjected to by doctors and therapists alike.

“A bomb did this?” Kíli asked, reaching out with all the curiosity of a small child to touch the jagged marks that stretched down the inside of his bicep.  
  
“It’s called an IED,” he held his voice level, lifting his arm to let them see the rest. “You are familiar with it, I’m sure.”

Kíli was quiet for a moment, apparently repentant of his questions, before he sat down almost numbly on the coffee table.

“You didn’t have to show him,” Fíli swallowed.  
  
“I wouldn’t do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. And he would have kept asking otherwise,” but Thorin felt as faint as they did.

The wounds had healed, the bones had been mended or replaced, but the emptiness they left still weighed heavily on his heart… as heavy as his body had felt that day when he’d hit the ground. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.  
  
“I’m really proud of you, Uncle,” Kíli said, voice breaking. “Okay?” His last word was barely a whistle above the knot in his throat, fading into nothing as he tried to say more.

“Don’t worry about it,” Thorin caught his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “I’m here now, right?” He bumped their foreheads together and Kíli pressed back with gritted teeth, shaking his head.

“Mother said it was bad,” Fíli sat down beside his uncle and Thorin slung his free arm around him.  
  
He thanked Dís’s wisdom at this moment, her foresight into how her sons would react, and for allowing him a moment with them alone. She had known that they would be destroyed, that they would be hurt, and gave them the time to recover together.  
  
They spread out blankets and pillows and moved furniture until he was able to curl up with both of them on the floor in the living room, chuckling when he was argued over and eventually sandwiched between them. It was better to be here, in front of the fire they had kindled in the hearth, than to be _anywhere_ in the world - with his nephews pressed against him as if to protect him as much as he wanted to protect them.  
  
The familiar was comforting: the sounds of his kin murmuring to each other, the warmth of their laughter, the way they settled close to him and held him in place. Yet, somehow, it was also unsettling… to be thrust back into his homelife once again… He felt a yearning for something unfamiliar, something to keep his mind off the strangeness of suddenly being home.  
  
Then he settled upon it, slipping the phone out of his pocket he’d nearly forgotten about. Kíli had already fallen asleep against his chest and Fíli was making a valiant effort to stay conscious but then his head bobbed and dropped onto Thorin’s shoulder without ceremony.

**_Hope you’re not reading this_ **

He tapped the message out and sent it, not holding his breath for the technologically inept other to respond.

Just sending the message had helped to soothe his nerves.

 

* * *

  

Bilbo stared at the message on the bright little screen a moment longer, slapping the hand away that tried to draw his attention by pushing popcorn at his face.  
  
“What’s up, Bilbo?” Pippin peered at him from the edge of the couch.  
  
“It’s… nothing…” he narrowed his eyes, sliding the phone open and unlocking it.

**Why would you send it if I’m not supposed to read it?**

It took him an embarrassingly long amount of time to type out his response, squinting at the words on the screen.  
  
 ** _Why did you respond if I told you not to read it?_**

Bilbo bared his teeth.  
  
 **Why are you sending me text messages, which are inherently read, telling me not to read them?**

“Bilbo what are you doing?” He looked up to see the four boys staring at him, offering a crooked smile.

“I’m just…”  
  
“Are you looking at that guy’s phone?” Frodo flopped down next to him, leaning his chin against his elbow.  
  
 ** _I just wanted to see if you were looking at my texts_**

“I’m not,” Bilbo frowned, pushing his nephew away.  
  
“If you keep texting that slow, you’re going to be a hundred and eleven before anyone reads it,” Merry reached for the phone next and Bilbo jumped up onto the back of the couch.  
  
“Come off it!” Bilbo scolded. “I’m answering some important messages!”  
  
“Bilbo Baggins, you barely text _me_ , who could you be - is it that man from the train?”

“Confound you Frodo, get away from me,” he held him away with one arm. “I can’t do anything with one hand.”

“Oh leave him be,” Sam chided and Bilbo gave him a grateful look. Sweet, beautiful Samwise Gamgee.  
  
Bilbo cradled the overlarge object in his hands and huddled up protectively in the corner of the couch, keeping Frodo at bay with his foot on his hip, before turning back to his task at hand.  
  
 **Why would you send me a text to ask me if I was looking at your texts?**  
  
 ** _I wasn’t sure what else to send_**

That one made him laugh aloud, and he glared at the students until they turned back to their movie.  
  
 **Well, you have my attention if you wanted it?**  
  
 ** _I did_**

Those words made his stomach jump and he nearly threw the phone across the room, clutching it to his beating heart. He wasn’t sure why he felt so giddy, scrolling up to read the other texts again, but it had been a long time since someone had sent him messages out of the blue. Of course, it had _nothing_ to do with the bright blue of the stranger’s eyes.

 _Bilbo Baggins you are thirty-four years old and you are acting like a fool._ He mentally wagged a finger at himself, squeezing his eyes shut. _He’s just being polite._  

He took a shaky breath, feeling like an idiot when he cracked one eye open to make sure the messages were still there.  
 

* * *

 

Thorin snorted, watching the dots move on the text bubble as he waited for the next response. He hadn’t felt quite this cheeky in a long while and enjoyed the back and forth.

**Is there a reason?**

**_Just thought I’d check on my phone_**  

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and dislodged himself from his nephews, picking Fíli up first and carrying him up the stairs. He hoisted Kíli next, gritting his teeth against the pull of the muscle in his arm. The doctors had said _no heavy lifting,_ but he wasn’t about to leave his sister’s sons on the floor in the living room.

 **Well you’ll be pleased to know that your tiny, electronic child is doing well. Despite the fact that my nephew and his friends have sticky paws.**  
  
He was pleased, indeed, to see a text message when he sat on the edge of his bed and rolled his shoulder.  
  
 ** _Your nephew is with you for Christmas?_**  
  
 **His parents passed away, I took him in.**

There was a beat in the conversation and Thorin felt like he had stepped into the too-personal territory, considering this man had only accepted his acquaintance due to the phone switch.  
  
 **I was the only one that could.**  

 ** _I’m sorry_** **_I was prying_**

Thorin wrinkled his face, shoving the phone back in his pocket like some love-lost teenager, and wandered down the hall to the bathroom, considering his own face in the mirror… what he could see of it.

He wasn’t sure _why_ he was reaching out to this man, why it mattered that he didn’t offend him beyond the thought that he _might_ have it in him to smash Thorin’s phone… It could be because this man, stranger as he was, had no idea who Thorin was… This man didn’t have any preconceived notions about who he was, or wasn’t, or who he was supposed to be, and didn’t care about any of those things. 

It was a freeing thought: meeting someone and learning everything about them from scratch, with no outside influence. It meant the ability to filter, to finally lay down the pieces of himself and fit them back together with someone who wasn’t attempting to shuffle them back the way _they_ thought they ought to go.

So when the next message came he couldn’t stop his heart from racing:

**It’s fine. What are you doing?**

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He fell asleep somewhere between gossiping on his sister’s bed, as if they were teenagers again, and the third rerun of trashy late-night television.

Bilbo was nearly in tears over his own wit, settling down to grade papers once the boys had freed him from the torture of watching the same ten movies they’d watched every year before. He liked his office, perhaps more than any other room of the house, with its mahogany desk and dark leather chair and the built-ins along the walls that drew up thoughts of old libraries and the scent of older books.  
  
He could still see Frodo studying on the floor, sprawled out and concentrating with headphones and his favorite t-shirt on. Never straying too far from his uncle during the first months of cohabitation.  
  
 ** _Thinking about a haircut, you?_**  

He glanced at the phone and smiled to himself, tapping his pen against the paper he’d half finished.  
  
 **Grading papers from students who don’t seem to appreciate the time I spent slaving over their work. I’m going to start handing out C’s to any student I know I’ve made notes for.**

**_Which is all of them?_ **

Bilbo sighed.

**You are very distracting when I’m trying to work.**

**_I’ll leave you alone then_ **

**No, it’s fine.**

_Why_ did he say it was fine? Because he didn’t want to stop talking to him? Because it was nice to be treated like an adult instead of as a professor or a parent?

**_Well then, I suppose that makes you a teacher?_ **

**A professor. I teach literature. You?**

Frodo had told him that shorter messages were better, even if they raked against his spine and curled his lip. He would rather write long and flowing messages if he had a computer with a proper keyboard.

**_I’m retired, as of February_ **

**Must be nice. What are you doing for the holidays? Besides borrowing my phone and visiting your sister?**

“Bilbo!” He looked up to see Frodo leaning in the door, offering a smile. “We’re going on a pub crawl if you care to join?”  
  
“Me? On a pub crawl with a bunch of twenty year olds?” Bilbo scoffed. “I am far too old.”  
  
“You’re only thirty!”  
  
“Thirty-four!” He waved his pen.  
  
“Come out with us.”

"May I pass this time? Let me finish up this work, I've only a few days before final grades are due." Bilbo said apologetically.

"Can we help!?" Pippin pushed his head through the crack in the door.

"You boys don't worry about that," Bilbo said again. "Go crawling and don't wake me when you get back, unless someone's bleeding or vomiting."

"Yessir!" Frodo grinned. "Next time you can't avoid us, got it?"

"Oh I'm so sorry Frodo, I'm afraid I've gone temporarily deaf," Bilbo rose and walked towards him. "I'm so sorry, my boy. I'm - you'll just have to -" he slumped into his arms and started pushing him towards the door "- go on without me!"

"Bilbo!" Frodo's giggle was bright to his ears, his nephew struggling to keep from being pushed out the door. "Quit!"

"No! A horrible sickness has come over me called 'adulthood', and it comes with all these nasty symptoms like 'responsibility' and 'time-management'." 

"Sounds awful! A few pints of beer might cure it, yeah?" Pippin laughed. 

"Out!" Bilbo finally managed to push Frodo out the door to a chorus of laughter and playful jeers. "Have fun!" he shut the door in their faces, praying for their smiles to give him strength for grading the _sludge_ that poured out of the brains of his students.

**_I'm visiting my nephews, I haven't seen them in over a year so they're very happy to see me_ **

Bilbo wondered at his next message, checking the phone when he sat back down. He couldn't fathom a reason why someone couldn't take a train to visit family on the same island... Or perhaps he _hadn't_ been on the same island? Perhaps he had been in America or another equidistant place.

He tapped his pen again, pursing his lips in thought, starting to pull together pieces of information - little as they were.

His accent had been proper, Bilbo remembered that much beyond the low register of his voice, and he had seemed educated... He was starting to get a picture of a man with little money, working in a dangerous field - dangerous was a given considering the fresh scar on his forehead - that took him far away from home.

He was a mystery, that much was certain, and Bilbo was more than a little curious.

 

* * *

 

Thorin turned his head in the mirror, examining his handiwork by running his fingers over his beard. He’d trimmed it down, finally, to a more publicly acceptable length.  
  
“Oh well, there’s my brother under all that hair,” he turned his head to see his sister’s eyes peering in at him through the crack in the bathroom door.  
  
“Dís,” he said with relief, watching her eyes flicker over the scars on his chest. “Want to check me out?”  
  
“Have you been going to therapy?” She pushed the door open the rest of the way and gripped his shoulder to roll it gently. “How’s the implant?”  
  
“Aches when it’s cold, otherwise I don’t have any problems.”  
  
“They did a good job,” she reached up to run her fingers over his beard. “You look much better. You’ve been sleeping again?”  
  
He knew the shadows around his eyes had faded, that the haunted look he’d carried with him for months had been softened by good food and rest and more therapy than he cared to admit, but he couldn’t say he was sleeping well at night. He definitely couldn’t say _yes -_ not when he was standing in the washroom in the middle of the night with whiskey on his breath, to soothe the rough edges of his nerves, and a mountain of facial hair in the sink.  
  
“Yes,” he answered and watched her eyes fall on the glass.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be drinking,” her face sank into concern and he tore his eyes away.  
  
“Only _one_ drink. I’m still standing, right?”  
  
“It’s dangerous and you do it _anyway!_ But you have the nerve to suggest that I should just _not_ worry about you at all! Why worry! Just mixing drugs and alcohol without any concern for yourself!”  
  
“ _One_ drink,” he said again. “I couldn’t sleep.” He couldn’t tell her how the warmth of the alcohol had soothed the hollow feeling in his chest, how it kept his hands from shaking on the edges of the sink.  
  
“So take a sleeping pill! You’re still _healing_. You’re so worried about what the boys will think of you, you stubborn old man, do you think they’ll be impressed when I tell them you-”  
  
Thorin relented, placing his hands on his sister’s shoulders to silence her. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”  
  
“You prideful son of a bitch,” a pain rose in his chest as if a hand had clutched his heart when she pulled him into her arms and held him there. “You promise it was just one?”  
  
“Just one to settle my nerves. Faster than any Klonopin,” he joked.  
  
“Fine… just don’t do it again…” she told him and he caught her face in his hands.  
  
“I know you’ve seen people like me struggle before, but I’m _steady_ and I don’t need to ‘self-medicate’ or whatever it is you lot babble on about. If it means that much to you, I won’t touch another drop of alcohol again in my life.”  
  
She watched him, regardless, once he was convinced to sit down in the kitchen with her before she turned in.  
  
“How are you?” She asked, sliding a cup of cocoa to him.  
  
“I feel like I’m twelve again and under scrutiny by Mother. ‘ _Here have some cocoa, it’ll help you sleep, also I’ve heard some rumors about you from mothers in the peerage?_ ’ Are you planning on asking me about my love life as well?” He mocked their late mother’s voice.  
  
“Well that’s one question, though, I don’t think I’ll be as critical,” she sat down beside him, reaching out to tuck the tag of his t-shirt back in.  
  
“Let me put your questions to rest - _no,_ I’m not seeing anyone and _no,_ I don’t plan on seeing anyone any time soon.” He felt his phone vibrate and set it out on the table, flicking his finger across the screen.

“Oh, so now I get to deal with _you_ texting too?” Dís propped her cheek on her fist and sighed.

**I was grading, my apologies. How old are your nephews?**

His sister made a knowing sound as soon as the smile passed onto his lips.  
  
“Have you made a new friend?”  
  
“Don’t ask me questions with that tone of voice,” he narrowed his eyes at her and she reached out to tuck a piece of his long hair behind his ear.  
  
“Then I will _never_ ask you questions,” she shrugged a shoulder.  
  
“Petulant,” he scoffed.  
  
 ** _16 and 17, kids that want to grow up too fast_**

 **I understand that, and I’m glad Frodo wasn’t much of a troublemaker. Lord knows I was.**  

Thorin couldn’t help but chuckle at the honesty in the last statement, glancing at his sister to see her sipping her drink and looking away from him in an obvious cold shoulder. He looked back to message again and ignored her in return.

 ** _What trouble could you possibly have been?_**  
  
“ _Thorin,_ it’s almost 2 AM - you need to get to sleep,” she chided. “Don’t make me take your phone away like the boys’.”  
  
“You wouldn’t dare!” Thorin mocked offense and rose from the table when she reached for it.  
  
“Thorin _Oakenshield!_ Give me that phone right now!” she dove after him and he caught her with one arm, holding the phone out above her head.  
  
“You’re going to wake the boys!” He swung his weight to counter her amidst her laughter.  
  
He hadn’t heard her laugh so easily in months - always grim and serious during the appointments she attended with him, always concerned with his well being, with the state of his stitches, with his physical therapy, with his implant… All things that she knew about, things she could control, things without dependent variables or question marks.

His _mental_ health was something different. She could learn all she could, understand all she wanted, but the fragility or sturdiness of the mind was an endless loop of questions with unknowable answers. Therapists could only help him so much. Medication could only give him the tools to recover. Time and the desire to recover were the only things that could get him through to the other side. Everything else was simply a tool.  
  
She could not calculate _time_ or _desire_.

“Maybe _you’re_ the one that needs rest,” Thorin felt her fall slack against him, her ear against his chest. “You do so much for everyone else.”  
  
“Shhh... I’m just happy you’re standing in my kitchen again,” she murmured. “Just be quiet for a minute.”

He wrapped his free arm around her and held her close, pressing his lips to the top of her head. They swayed there, as if pulled by some unheard music, until she finally drew away and wiped her eyes.  
  
“Everybody’s crying over me today. I’m three for three.”  
  
“Shut up,” she scoffed. “You’re horrible.”  
  
“C’mon, I think I can get to sleep,” he slung an arm over her shoulders and pulled her towards the stairs, flicking the kitchen light as they went and plunging them into darkness.  
  
“Asshole!” Dís laughed when they nearly tripped up the stairs. “You did this!”  
  
“It was a miscalculation, but here we are and this is how it’s going to be.”  
  
He fell asleep somewhere between gossiping on his sister’s bed, as if they were teenagers again, and the third rerun of trashy late-night television.

  

* * *

 

He woke to the crinkle of paper and the scent of tea, dark and well steeped, feeling a gentle hand on his head. Frodo, ever dutiful with his rumpled curls and half-dead hangover gaze, stood above him with a queasy smile.  
  
“We’re going to get an overly greasy breakfast and try not to vomit,” he informed.  
  
“Oh shit,” Bilbo nearly slapped his own face, sitting up.  
  
“What time did you fall asleep?” Frodo stifled a yawn behind his hand, sitting on his uncle’s armrest.  
  
“I… have no idea,” his limbs ached from being held at awkward positions for hours and he could barely keep his eyes open. “I haven’t pulled an all nighter since I was in for my doctorate...”  
  
“I remember those days,” Frodo pushed the cup into his hands.  
  
“What time is it?”  
  
“Half past ten.”  
  
“ _Hell_. Yes, alright. Let’s get breakfast.” He took a mouthful of tea and immediately regretted it, screwing up his face in pain. “Oh goodness.”  
  
Frodo laughed and sauntered off to rouse his friends, leaving Bilbo to groan and take another drink of tea - his mouth was already on fire, he might as well put it to good use.  
  
 **My parents were well off and I had a wild streak. Had a few adventures as a kid.**

**_Adventures?_ **

He nearly cackled, sitting back in his chair as he read the last message.

Oh yes, _adventures_.

Once he’d taken off university for a semester without telling his parents and boarded a plane to America with only a duffle over his shoulder. He’d paid a thousand American dollars for a crap car and spent the next four months living out of motels, inhaling McDonalds and cheap American beer. 

Two years before _that,_ he’d abandoned a school trip in India on the last day and spent three weeks hopping from hostel to hostel in Asia with his cousins.

He supposed vanishing in the middle of the night on a train tour through Europe, and eventually ending up broke and drunk in Russia during the middle of winter was... probably _not_ advisable either.

They were adventures and chances he would never take today: jumping into a half-frozen lake in the middle of winter, sleeping on a beach in France and watching the world turn, eating _balut_ in the Philippines with his eyes pressed closed - things he could barely believe he had done.

Now he was _comfortable_. At least he felt that he was. He had a stable life with an adoptive son and a job that he enjoyed. He went to work every day and returned home and never had to worry about when he would eat next, or where his friends were.  
  
 **One day I’ll tell you the stories, how’s that?**  
  
He rose and walked out to check on the boys, pausing to finish his tea, and found them leaning against each other for support in the living room.  
  
“Come on, then! If we’re having breakfast, we should probably get going,” he clapped his hands.

He snickered at the collective groan, pulling his jacket on as the others clambered over each other to leave.

Yes, comfortable was _much_ better.

 

* * *

 

Thorin groaned when he came back to himself, waking to an unfortunate stiffness in his shoulder and more limbs on top of him than he originally remembered. He heard a soft snoring in his ear and turned his head to find Kíli’s face just inches from his, nearly bursting out laughing with surprise. Fíli came into his sight next, half sprawled over Thorin’s body.  
  
 _When did they get here?_ He shifted his weight, squinting at a shutter sound from near the foot of the bed.  
  
“Very cute,” Dís was standing above them in her pajamas, phone in her hand.  
  
“I’m going to break your phone,” Thorin shielded his face. “Get off me, _Slug_ ,” he pushed the youngest away gently, only to have Kíli curl around him tighter.  
  
“He drools,” Fíli said groggily, as if this was information Thorin wasn’t aware of.  
  
“You drool!” Kíli protested, eyes still closed, reaching out to slap his brother’s arm.  
  
“I don’t care!” Thorin laughed defeatedly. “Just let me sit up!”  
  
They relented and he peeled his back off the sheets, wrinkling his face when he wiped his arm off with Kíli’s shirt.  
  
“When did they get in here?” He pushed the hair back from Fíli’s face to expose his eyes to the sunlight streaming in through the window.  
  
“They’re still on school hours,” Dís chuckled. “They crawled back into bed because it was cold and you were still asleep.”  
  
“Shouldn’t they be in class?”  
  
“I let them stay home,” she leaned against the footboard.  
  
“Everybody’s jealous!” Kíli perked up immediately and his brother groaned. “She said we could stay home today since you just got back.”  
  
“Brush your teeth, _Slug_ ,” Thorin told him, pushing his hand against his nephew’s face playfully.  
  
“I don’t like the new nickname,” Kíli protested, but his voice fell quiet when Thorin reached up to gingerly massage his injured arm. “Are you in pain?”  
  
“Kíli, I’m fine,” he patted his knee. “Just stiff from being still and at awkward angles.” He dragged himself out of bed, ruffling Fíli’s hair on the way.  
  
“No! Come back!” Kíli groaned. “I don’t want to be here alone with Fíli, he smells!”

When he left the house for his morning run he discovered yet another problem with having someone else’s phone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to **[malvinnia](http://malvinnia.tumblr.com/)** for being a fabulous beta and don't forget to check me out on **[tumblr](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea, the finer of the two drinks, was for sipping and tasting - coffee’s only flavor was _regret_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **My anaconda don't-**

**_Maroon 5 seems like an odd choice_ **

Bilbo saw the text before he realized what was happening.  
  
 ** _Also Ke$ha concerns me_**

“No!” He cried. “He said he wouldn’t!”  
  
“What’s wrong, Bilbo?” Frodo jumped, halfway to shovelling his sixth pancake into his mouth.  
  
“He’s looking through my music!” He nearly dropped the phone in his coffee in his haste to respond. “How do I tell him to stop!?”  
  
Pippin cackled, “You don’t!”  
  
 ** _I feel like I should be serenading you with Taylor Swift_**

“This is utterly humiliating,” Bilbo groaned and dropped his head in shame as the boys laughed around him.  
  
 **Please**

He couldn’t send anything else but a pitiful plea for abatement, releasing a soft whine as he folded his arms behind his neck.

“Should we fight him?” Merry asked.  
  
“He’s a huge bloke, Merry, I think you’d be on the losing end of that battle,” Bilbo gave an abortive gesture, sitting up when the waitress stopped at their table. 

**_The collection of late seventies funk is unexpected. I think I prefer Nicki Minaj_ **

That seemed to be the final straw and Bilbo snatched up the phone to a chorus of laughter, using his limited knowledge of the phone to navigate it.  
  
“I was listening to _Style_ by Taylor Swift, how dare you interrupt me.” The - now -  familiar voice came over the line after a single ring and Bilbo nearly choked on his own tongue.  
  
“How _dare_ you!” He couldn’t properly form words in his embarrassment.  
  
Thorin gave a laugh, breathing heavily, and Bilbo wondered where he was, “I needed something to listen to while I run. Considering I have your phone, this seemed the best bet.”

 _Oh_.

“You couldn’t have listened to my music without texting me about it?”  
  
“I just thought your music taste was interesting for a _professor_ ,” Thorin’s rough voice against his ear sent tingles down his spine.

“Because _all_ professors listen to Mozart and Bach in their oaken studies with tobacco stains on their fingers?” He asked critically, earning only another laugh in return.  
  
“If you don’t let me go, I’m going to start singing. You do _not_ want me to start singing.”  
  
Bilbo realized that the boys were watching him with varying degrees of feigned ignorance, holding their breaths for _something_ , and he faltered in the conversation as he glared at them through narrowed eyes.

“ _You can tell by the way I use my walk--_ ”  
  
“Alright! Alright, go on then! Just stop texting me about my music!” Bilbo said, the dark chuckle he heard just before he hung up had his pulse racing in his throat.

 ** _Stayin alive stayin alive_**  

The smile he gave must have been a good one, because the boys gave a collective ‘ _oooh_ ’, effectively wiping it from his face.  
  
“Why don’t you four do something other than bother me?”  
  
“You’re sitting at the same table!” Pippin pointed out.  
  
“Well, I will change that!” Bilbo made to stand up, laughing when Frodo pulled him back down. “Cheeky bloke. Texting me song lyrics.”

But he was _certainly_ grinning for the rest of the day.  


* * *

 

“Are you _certain_?”  
  
“Yes! Christ, Dís, do I look like I have any doubts about going?”  
  
“ _Thorin,_ it’s going to be packed!”  
  
“I can handle a few _people_.”  
  
He was standing in the kitchen toe to toe with his sister, pulling at the collar of his sweater. He didn’t remember exactly _what_ had started things, but - oh that’s right - he’d slipped his bottle of Klonopin into her bag.  
  
“You have _got_ to stop worrying about me. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”  
  
His nephews were sitting at the kitchen tables in varying states of dress, winter jackets hanging off and scarves on the table. They’d been _more_ than ready to go at the offer of Christmas sales, but upon sitting down at the table they appeared to have settled in for the long haul - not a bad idea at this rate.  
  
“I just don’t want you to get hurt!”  
  
“Neither do I, but yelling at me isn’t about to help things!” He was starting to feel a little on edge, her concern quickly becoming an irritation.  
  
That seemed to settle things and she took a step back, looking guilty.  
  
“You have _got_ to stop protecting me, Dís. At some point I’m going to have to walk out into public and I’m going to have to deal with the consequences. If something happens, I’ll be sure to let you know… or you’ll notice since I’ll probably have hit the floor, like the last time someone slammed a stapler.”  
  
“That’s not funny,” she said, but cracked a smile despite herself.  
  
“There’s humor in it. It will terrify you if you let it. I promise, the anxiety surrounding having an attack is sometimes worse than the attack itself. You end up backing yourself into a corner - too afraid to move forward for fear of something bad happening.”  
  
"I'm sorry," she said after a quiet moment. "It's been a year. I..."

He knew she still saw him lying in a hospital bed with nightmares that kept him tossing and turning until he’d given up on sleep, a survivor's guilt that had left him nearly paralyzed. He supposed that was something _he_ would have to get used to. Something _she_ needed to overcome alongside him.

Kíli perked up from his brother's shoulder, eyes bright, "Are we going now?"

"Yes, we’re going,” Dís picked up her bag.

With that, and a car ride he would rather have avoided, he found himself in the Buchanan Galleries - two days before Christmas.

Humanity had a problem with personal space, that much he was aware of, but the _blatant_ disregard had him scowling only minutes in. He was tall enough to be able to see over their heads, but that didn’t assuage the irritation that was beginning to build in his chest and after the third store he opted to stand outside.  
  
 _Lines._

_Lines and queues and waiting._

He closed his eyes to clear his head, taking a few deep breaths, and closed his fingers around the phone in his pocket - as if that might help to settle his nerves.  
  
He felt jumpy, jittery, and every sound and subtle movement was amplified against the rush of air into his lungs. He leaned his head back against the wall behind him, waiting for his equilibrium return.

“Uncle?” Fíli’s voice swam at him as if he were speaking under water. “Thorin?” His name cut the fog and Thorin opened his eyes. “Are you alright? You look a little pale?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he smiled in return, clapping his nephew on the shoulder. “It’s just a bit warm in here, isn’t it?”  
  
“Lots of people, and you’re still wearing your jacket,” Fíli offered, but Thorin had the feeling he wasn’t buying it.

“Where’re your mother and brother?” He asked, shrugging out of his coat and folding it over his arm.  
  
“She’s buying him pants without holes,” Fíli smiled wryly and Thorin laughed. “Though I doubt he’ll actually wear them.”  
  
Fíli leaned next to Thorin on the wall, mimicking his stance, and Thorin felt a surge of affection for the blond boy - immediately tinged with a bitter regret. The last thing he wanted was for these boys to be like _him_. He wanted them to be shielded from the world until they were ready for it, wanted them to be able to face their problems with a clear head and without the jaded eyes he’d had as a boy - he’d tried to raise them that way when he was home.  
  
 _When_ was probably the operative term, all things considered, since he had been gone a good portion of their childhood; always deployed or returning. He’d done his best to fill the space their father had left, a space that fell to him by nature of being the patriarch, but between losing their father and Thorin’s younger brother… he wasn’t sure he’d accomplished much beyond breaking them with his own hands.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Fíli looked up at him and Thorin chuckled.  
  
“What are _you_ thinking about?”  
  
“I was just thinking about the time you stayed up all night with Kíli and me after Uncle Frerin died,” Fíli said in a quiet voice. “You had work to do, but you stayed up with us until we fell asleep.”  
  
“That’s what I’m supposed to do,” Thorin placed his hand on top of his nephew’s head. He remembered the night distinctly, remembered sitting in front of his computer and aching so deeply he hadn’t been sure it would fade - wishing he could reach through the screen and hold them tightly to ease their pain.  
  
“But you didn’t _have_ to, you know? There are lots of things people are _supposed_ to do: like love their children, or feed their pets, or pay their bills - but people don’t do it anyway… Even if they have the means to.”  
  
“When did you grow up?” He said fondly, bumping his knuckles against Fíli’s cheek.  
  
“I guess I’m trying to say that I’m glad you’re back. For Kíli.”  
  
“Not for you?” _There_ was that pang of regret he had expected.  
  
“No, I mean I’m glad you’re here because _I_ missed you as well, but… Kíli never knew Dad and Uncle Frerin’s death hit him hard. He slept in my bed for months when we got the news you’d been injured. I’m just glad that seeing you has helped him.” He paused for a long moment, taking in a shaky breath, “I missed you, too.”  
  
“There you are!” Dís appeared around the corner with Kíli at her heels. “We just have a few more things to do,” she stopped short of them, tilting her head just slightly.

He wondered if she’d noticed how they were standing.  
  
“Then I will gladly opt out of those things and find something to do with myself,” Thorin straightened up. “The shops are too packed.”  
  
Dís gave him a look and he could almost _feel_ the ‘I-told-you-so’ that radiated off her.  
  
“I’ll stay with you,” Kíli offered.  
  
“If you do that, then I can go with Mum and get your Christmas present.”  
  
“You haven’t bought my present yet!” Kíli sounded scandalized and Fíli laughed, linking arms with their mother.  
  
Thorin wandered with Kíli by his side, enjoying the chattering company of his nephew against the backdrop of white noise and joyful screams of children. An even keel was necessary when people were pushing in on him and bumping into him in their hurry to buy presents, and Kíli was his helmsman.  
  
“Kíli, why don’t we find somewhere to sit and get some coffee? It’s a little stuffy,” he pulled at the collar of his shirt. It was loose around his collarbone, but he still felt a band of pressure around his throat.  
  
“Sure,” he noticed the way his nephew’s honeyed eyes flickered over his face, the way the corners of his lips turned down. “Why don’t we go somewhere quiet?” He seemed to press closer, turning his body almost protectively when they stopped.  
  
“Is there anywhere quiet?” Thorin rolled his neck, rubbing tension out of his spine with his fingers.  
  
“The bookstore by the Christmas tree is usually good?”  
  
“Good. That’ll do.”  
  
He wondered if this was another one of Dís’ pieces of advice, if she had given them a list of pointers on how to handle him in crowded places.  
  
“A friend of mine is in there anyway,” Kíli was saying and Thorin honed in on the words.  
  
“A _friend_?”  
  
“Uh… well yeah, I mean, kind of…” Thorin couldn’t help but laugh at the blush that rose in Kíli’s cheeks. “She’s… I mean, she’s a friend. We’re friends. With each other.”  
  
“Uh huh…” The tight feeling in his shoulders subsided slightly with this new avenue of torture. “And what’s your _friend’s_ name?”  
  
“It’s… her name is _Tauriel_.” He cleared his throat.  
  
 _Why do people these days insist on giving their children strange names?_ He processed the word for a moment, rolling the unfamiliar syllables over his tongue.  
  
“Tauriel. Very pretty.”  
  
“She is! I mean… _it_ is - her name. _It_ is very pretty…” Kíli’s face burst into a grin.  
  
He couldn’t help but smile back, ruffling the boy’s hair.

 ** _My nephew has a crush send help_**  

**Why? Is that a problem?**

**_I’m not prepared for this_ **

 

* * *

 

Bilbo cackled, nearly upsetting the paperwork on his desk. He was entering grades with all the gusto of an exhausted old man who had just stayed up past his bedtime, guzzling coffee like a lifesource.

Coffee had been something the Americans had introduced to him as a source of caffeine; coffee was to be had when one wished to remain awake and wild eyed until the wee hours of the morning - or in Bilbo’s case: to stay awake _period._

Tea, the finer of the two drinks, was for sipping and tasting - coffee’s only flavor was _regret_.

**Gird your loins.**

**_Consider them girded_ **

His laughter only deepened until he was leaning back in his chair biting his knuckle to calm down. Only after he received an odd look from his teaching assistant did he grin sheepishly, and put the phone back down.  
  
 **Never doubt the efficacy of a good girding.**

**_I’m afraid this is heading very quickly to innuendo_ **

**You are reprehensible.**

**_You brought it up_ **

Bilbo snickered to himself, turning his eyes back to typing in grades, jumping when the phone beside him began to vibrate. 

 

* * *

 

The _friend_ in question was a pretty girl with impossibly long red hair. She seemed older than his nephew, but he knew from the light in her eyes that her interest was genuine, shaking her hand in greeting.  
  
“So you must be Colonel Oakenshield?” She asked, voice low and lyrical.  
  
“He’s handing out my rank now? It’s lieutenant colonel, but… Thorin is fine.” He smiled.  
  
“Thorin, then, it’s nice to finally meet you. Kíli’s told me a lot about you.”  
  
His heart skipped for his nephew, pride in his chest when the two exchanged smiles. Cute as it was, he had seen two sweethearts fall once before, he just hoped this story had a better ending than the tragedy that came before.

“I’m going to get some coffee, why don’t you two catch up?” Thorin offered. He was fixated on the idea of coffee, on having his hands on something real and _warm._  
  
“We can come with you,” Kíli said brightly.  
  
“Kíli, stay right here and guard the books. I will return in ten minutes with coffee. Would you like anything?” He looked to Tauriel.  
  
“No, thank you,” she said said pleasantly.  
  
“What about me?!” Kíli protested.  
  
“You can buy your own coffee,” Thorin waved him off and Kíli pouted.  
  
The bookstore _was_ much quieter than the rest of the shops, almost deafeningly so, but the line for coffee was a good middle ground to take a breath and pull out his phone.  
  
“Good afternoon, how’d it go?”  
  
He hadn’t expected Bilbo to answer so quickly.

“You know, I think you’re starting to like having a cell phone.”  
  
“I asked you a question,” the professor said sourly.  
  
“We’re essentially strangers, what does it matter?”  
  
“You’re the one who keeps talking to me!” Bilbo cried incredulously and Thorin cracked a smile.  
  
“It went well. Her name is Tauriel.”  
  
“Odd name… must be foreign.”  
  
Their conversation wandered as he waited for his drink order: from the mundanities of weather and work to the _adventures_ he’d been promised stories of - things he filed away for later use and further understanding of the man currently in possession of his phone.

“... And then he just fell down - straight down - and I remember thinking ‘ _Oh my god he’s going to fall into his own piss_ ’.”

Thorin nearly choked on his coffee, leaning against a bookshelf, “There’s no way that actually happened!”  
  
“Yes! He broke his leg, though, so that was a bit of a damper on the whole affair, but -”  
  
An explosion had him hitting the ground before he could think, throwing his hands over the back of his neck.

Panic was there, clawing at his flesh and filling his lungs with dust and the scents of burning metal. He heard the buzzing of sensors and the gentle dripping of blood, the roaring of trucks, the calling of soldiers, screams - oh the _screams_.

“ _Colonel!_ ” A voice called to him through the haze.

“Thorin!” 

As if someone had flipped a switch he realized he was laying on his back in the middle of a bookstore, shoulder screaming with tension.  
  
Faces. Books. Shelves. He tried to clear his head, the remnants of panic keeping him from moving his limbs. The face above him was unfamiliar, pale and surrounded by darkness, until he could finally focus.  
  
“Kíli,” he said hoarsely.  
  
“T-Tauriel’s gone to get help,” his nephew’s hands were shaking. “I moved you.”  
  
“How long was I out?”  
  
“Only a few minutes. I - you scared me. A display collapsed and -”  
  
 _That_ was the explosion he’d heard.  
  
“I’m alright, Kíli,” he groaned.  
  
“He’s not a circus sideshow!” Kíli yelled at the people who had gathered, helping his uncle up. “Get out of here!”  
  
“Kíli.”  
  
“Go away! Stop standing there!” The teen shifted his body to shield Thorin from them. “Have some fucking respect!”  
  
“ _Kíli!_ ”  
  
The boy looked to him, face damp and tearful, and his heart shattered in his chest.  
  
“Thank you,” he said roughly. “It’s alright.”  
  
“Thorin!” Dís’ voice found him next. “It’s fine! I’m a doctor!” She dismissed the crowd, falling to his side. Fíli and Tauriel trailed behind her, carrying bags. “Can you stand?”  
  
“I panicked is all,” Thorin murmured. “Bookshelf collapsed.”  
  
He waited for his sister to tell him he should have taken his medicine earlier - that he should be more careful - but instead she sighed and checked his pupil dilation with one hand.  
  
“Let’s go home, eh?” She helped him up with Kíli’s support, gentle on his shoulder. “Did you hit the ground too hard?”  
  
“No, I’m… I’m just shaken is all, Dís, really.”  
  
He had a feeling she didn’t believe him.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to [malvinnia](http://malvinnia.tumblr.com/) for being a wonderful beta and don't forget to check me out on [tumblr](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thorin?” Gandalf echoed, slowing to turn and look at his house guest. “There are not many by that name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

If the boys noticed anything was wrong that night, they made no outward mention of it. He checked the phone in his hand, bile in his throat with each minute that passed without word, glad he had been alone when it had happened.

He’d heard a bang before the line went dead, had felt terror in his heart, but all he could do was send a few texts and hope Thorin was alright.

There had been no word as of yet.  
  
“Don’t be silly, Bilbo, nothing’s happened to him - something happened and he got busy and forgot. You’re only a stranger with his phone. No need to call you and tell you that he’s alright.”  
  
But the past two days had been a giddy rush of laughter and easy banter, things he hadn’t experienced in years, and he was starting to consider the stranger somewhat of a friend. He was starting to let Thorin slip into his life, had started relishing the texts and anticipating the next turn of their conversation - he was letting this man in. Though, it might be more accurate to say that Thorin had smashed head first through whatever attempts at keeping him out that Bilbo might have conjured.  
  
His feet started moving before he could stop himself, sticking his head out into the hallway to peer into the atrium of the second floor. He sniffed, making sure no one was looking, before he made his way down the hall to a familiar oak door.  
  
“Ah, I thought you might come by,” the door swung open before he could knock.  
  
“You’ve always been a little magical that way, Gandalf,” Bilbo gave a weak smile. “Never fails to surprise me.”  
  
“Come on in, then,” the old man swung the door a little wider and allowed him through.  
  
He liked Gandalf’s flat, enjoyed the scent of pipeweed and the lingerings of well-cooked food that hung in the air and clung to the man himself. Ancient maps and bookcases lined every wall, haphazardly, as if they’d been thrown there temporarily and had been forgotten in the passing of time. Somewhere deep in the rooms he could hear a record rolling on its player, soft and lulling.

“Tea?” Gandalf offered and Bilbo looked up, nearly jumping out of his skin.  
  
“Goodness… Yes, that would be fine, thank you,” he pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit…”  
  
“Nervous?”

“On edge might be better? Something happened today and I’m just a little… well, anyway, there’s no reason for me to worry about anything.” He tried to shake the nagging worry, following the old man into the kitchen.  
  
“Oh? Something exciting?”

“Not exactly.”  
  
“Of course not, if it was exciting you’d be hiding in your house with the covers up to your nose,” Gandalf said and Bilbo lifted a finger in protest, mouthing silent arguments despite Gandalf’s mischievous smile.  
  
“I’m - no! That is- You are-” he cleared his throat and accepted his offered tea. “Hmmph,” he pointed at him.  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
“My… Someone was in some sort of accident. I was on the phone with him when it happened and I just…”  
  
“You’ve been worried about it all day, haven’t you?”  
  
“Well, it’s… What else should I do? I heard a loud crash and… I called a couple times and sent a few texts…” He followed after Gandalf again, drinking his tea as he went. “It’s just not like Thorin not to answer my texts.”  
  
“ _Thorin_?” Gandalf echoed, slowing to turn and look at his house guest. “There are not many by that name.”  
  
“Well no, I suppose not, but regardless - that’s his name. I’m… confused?” Bilbo had never liked how the old man loomed over him, tilting back on his heels to look up into bright blue eyes framed by short silver hair and a well-trimmed beard. “Is there something I’m missing? Do you know him?”  
  
“I know someone by that name, yes,” he huffed a laugh. “What a _coincidence_ that you should as well.”  
  
“Bizarre…” Bilbo said in an undertone, sitting down in an armchair by the hearth as his friend stoked the fire. 

 _Very bizarre._  

 

* * *

 

There had been times when he’d been happier to walk through the front door of his sister’s house, but this was certainly a rival to those. He collapsed on the couch in the den and stretched his legs out, dropping his head back against the backrest with a groan - shortly joined by his nephews.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, or when Kíli had tucked himself under his arm, but he felt as though he might have fallen asleep because by the time his eyes opened again the sky was dark and Kíli was dozing against his shoulder.

It was a slow awakening, a rising to the forefront of his own mind, after an exhausting day - and he was glad for it, afraid to move too quickly and wake his charges. He shifted his weight, unravelling his arms, and stood with what - to him - sounded like creaking.  
  
“Getting old is hell, isn’t it?” Dís asked quietly when he emerged into the kitchen.  
  
“I’m not even forty - why are you being cruel?” He sighed, pulling his sweatshirt off. “Well... that was embarrassing.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. That whole incident was not your fault,” she slid tea towards him.  
  
“You know, when I was with the Americans they didn’t pour tea down your throat. I quite liked that.”  
  
“You’ll drink it, or I’ll pour it down your pants.”  
  
“Ahhh _harsh_ ,” he sucked in air.

“You put yourself in danger today, you know?”  
  
“I thought you said none of this was my fault?” He said bitterly, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter.  
  
“Well… it’s not your fault that you reacted the way you did. It _is_ your fault for not taking care of yourself better. You knew it was going to be packed because it was the holidays, yet you went anyway.”  
  
“Is it wrong of me to want to leave the house?”  
  
“We’re not having this argument again. No, it’s not wrong to want to leave, but you could choose better days.” She twirled her finger. “Kíli wake up your brother, you need to practice.”  
  
“We did that yesterday!” The youngest complained, rubbing sleep from his eye. “Can’t we hang out with Uncle Thorin?”  
  
“No, get your violin and play like your little heart depends on it.”  
  
“You could play for me, gets me out of listening to your mother lecture me,” Thorin said.  
  
“I’ll get Fíli!” Kíli vanished down the hallway like a whirlwind.  
  
“Oh, you’re in trouble now,” Dís warned him.

“I’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

He dove headfirst onto his bed, a slide into home base, and snatched up the ringing phone. It had been an entire day without contact, without a single text, so he wasn't about to be hesitant.

“Hello!”  
  
“Always with the formalities.”  
  
He made a soft sound of relief against his knuckles, surprise sparking in his belly.  
  
“Are you alright? What happened?” Bilbo pushed his damp curls back from his brow, sitting up. He was fresh from the shower - as in he’d thrown himself out onto the tile floor and slid rather ungracefully to reach the phone in time with water streaming off his skin.

“A bookcase fell and startled me.”  
  
“Are you alright? You didn’t answer when I called. Oh _god,_ were you hurt?”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“That’s good,” Bilbo quickly switched gears. He was relieved enough just to know that Thorin was alright, and could sense that the concern was unneeded - but not unappreciated. 

“Scared the hell out of the barrista, though.”  
  
Bilbo laughed, scampering back to the bathroom to at least pull on his bathrobe.

_Can’t very well sit in the nude on the phone. Disgraceful._

He forgot, somewhere along the way, that he was talking to a stranger; perching on the window seat in his room, he looked out over the iced Christmas lights and cars racing home for the holidays. He felt, in this moment of open laughter, that perhaps Bilbo was not the only one who needed to be treated as something _more_ than just a few words.  
  
Thorin, like Bilbo, seemed to be someone others overlooked. He was someone who put the lives of others before himself, someone who had sacrificed much without being asked, and while he seemed secretive about just _what_ exactly it was he did… That didn’t make it any less noble.  
  
“Is that the time?” Bilbo yawned, starting awake when his eyes fell on the clock. He’d lost himself in the soft conversation about - he couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about - not that it mattered as long as they never stopped.  
  
“ _Shit_ , the boys are going to come in and wake me up at the asscrack of dawn,” Thorin groaned, a laugh softening the end.  
  
“I feel like a teenager staying up past their bedtime to talk on the phone.” Bilbo wrapped one arm around his legs, resting his chin on his knees.  
  
“Does feel that way, doesn’t it?” Bilbo could hear sleep edging into Thorin’s voice and he closed his eyes.

“I guess we should go, then,” Bilbo murmured reluctantly.  
  
There was a pause on the other end and Bilbo might have sworn he heard Thorin lick his lips as if in anticipation.

“Good night, Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
His chest tightened, breathless with warm nerves that blossomed on the surface of his skin.  
  
“Good night.”

 

* * *

 

Christmas morning arrived with a shout and the brunt of Kíli’s body on his, the teen throwing himself onto Thorin’s bed to awaken him.

“Christ!” Thorin grunted, reacting quickly and catching Kíli before he could escape. “Why are you so damned cold!?”  
  
“It snowed last night!” Kíli said breathlessly, laughing. “Everybody’s miserable about it!”  
  
“Your nose is like ice! Don’t -” He didn’t get a chance to stop him before his nephew had buried his face in the crook of his neck.  
  
“Happy Christmas, Thorin,” he said contentedly.  
  
“Happy Christmas, Slug.”  
  
“Uncle Thorin!” Fíli jumped in next, apparently having had the sense to take off his damp winter clothes before assaulting his uncle.

Before long he’d been dragged out of bed and down the stairs into the presence of his sister in a housecoat and a tired frown.

“Nollaig Shona,” she said roughly.  
  
“You sound like you need a vacation,” Thorin pet her hair, only to be swatted away playfully.  
  
“Open your presents before I… I can’t even think of an appropriate act of bodily force.”  
  
“You first,” Thorin set a bag on her lap.  
  
“Open in, Mum,” Fíli encouraged and his brother nodded excitedly from beside him.  
  
“Are all three of you in on this?” Dís asked, eyeing them as she set her cup down.  
  
“It was _our_ idea, but Uncle did all the work,” Kíli boasted.  
  
“Your sons have faulty memory,” Thorin informed her, leaning against her chair.  
  
He tied his hair back with a band he’d stolen from his sister, and waited for her commentary.  
  
“You… bought me a… book?” Her voice dimmed. “This is a book on Costa Rica, Thorin.”  
  
“Yes, it is. You can read! I was hoping that your overly expensive education would be worthwhile.”  
  
She curled her lip at him and flipped through the pages.

“What?” She caught a thick envelope before it could fall, weighing it in her fingers. “Thorin, what is this?”  
  
“Your Christmas present!” Kíli leaned forward over his brother’s shoulder, bouncing on one knee. “Open it!”  
  
“I don’t know what you boys have done, but…” she unfolded the paperwork and read the first page. “Thorin…” her face went slack, lips parting. “Thorin Oakenshield…”  
  
He didn’t have a sharp response for her, too stunned when the papers he’d neatly prepared and folded went crashing to the rug in her haste to throw herself into his arms. He laughed, swinging her around.  
  
“A Dhia!” She pressed her face into his chest, what papers hadn’t escaped were crushed in her fists as she caught the back of his t-shirt and held on for dear life. “Thorin, you beautiful idiot! When? How! This is- I can’t just take off for two weeks!” She said breathlessly.  
  
“We’ve been arranging it for a few weeks now, explained everything to your boss and your co-workers - seems they think you work too hard.”  
  
“I have to work hard!” Tears squeezed out of her eyes and she sobbed, trying to catch her breath. “Oh Christ, what am I supposed to - Am I going alone? Are you -”  
  
“We already talked Magdalena into going with you!”  
  
“Oh _boys_ ,” she embraced her sons next, pulling them close. “Oh my sweet boys,” she kissed their cheeks and released them. “This is for real?”  
  
“Yep, and the boys are going to be-”  
  
“Staying with you?” Dís said pointedly.  
  
“I… was going to say they’d be staying with Balin…”  
  
“Balin? No. They’re going with you.”  
  
“But Balin lives closer and he and Dwalin won’t have any trouble with them.”  
  
“I’m going to be gone two weeks, they can go with you.”  
  
“There’s no-” he relented. “Oh alright.”  
  
“Really!” Kíli nearly jumped on him with joy. “Is Granna coming?” Kíli asked over his shoulder.  
  
“Yes, she’ll be here in the afternoon, just in time for Thorin to escape her wrath,” Dís chuckled.  
  
“ _I love you_ ,” he mouthed at his sister and she lifted her cup to him.  
  
“Cheers.”  
  
Her mother-in-law had never been fond of the fact that Dís had retreated back into her family’s arms once her son had died. Needless to say it had been quite the battle for Thorin to bring Dís and the boys back into the Oakenshield family. 

He was not about to have a rematch on Christmas morning: Vardell screaming at him about how her grandsons deserved better than what his family gave them, how _she_ should have taken them, how _could_ such a fallen house expect to raise children… once he’d nearly punched her. Of course, if Frerin wouldn’t have stopped him, he likely _would have._

He kicked his long-unridden motorcycle to life, breathing warm air into the scarf around his neck. He considered driving it back to London - at least he’d finally have a real vehicle there and wouldn’t be bumping about on public transport where he might, say, run into a stranger and accidentally steal their phone?

It was good to leave, to drive along the cold country roads and pass out of the city and take in icy air and rolling, snowcovered hills. It was cold, too cold to be out on a motorcycle, but that hadn’t stopped him from escaping the warmth and cheer of his sister’s home. That hadn’t stopped the burning in his chest - it felt better to have the bite of ice and snow against his skin. 

Strange how the mind and heart so often align to bring the greatest pain to their possessors.

He found himself at the end of a long drive and pressed his knuckles to his mouth, eyes fixed on the manor gate before him.

He let out a slow breath, steam in the cold, and stepped off his bike.

_Why did I come here again?_

He had lived in this house once, with its English country architecture and undeniable touches of French influence, and had spent hours listening to his grandfather boast about the intricacies of its design and maintenance.  
  
Servants had bustled back and forth between rooms, the carriage house had been converted into a garage, but it maintained its grandeur - even now. There were no lights on the facade, only snow clinging to the arches and balustrades, and no Christmas tree inside the front hall as there had been during all the years of his childhood.

He could still see the cars lining the front drive, still hear his mother’s laughter and his father’s pride… He could still feel the pain of the day the gates closed behind them for good.

Thorin still felt the anger that had boiled up within him when he told his nephews stories of grand old parties and beautiful dancers and of how _once_ they might have been treated like princes. How _once_ they may have lived like _kings_.  
  
“Mallachd dha!” He slammed his fist against the iron, the chains rattling under the motion. “They could have had more...” He pressed his forehead against the bars, shoulders tight.

In the silence of the country, in the chill of the falling snow, he stood alone. Yet here, standing in front of his ancestral home, he was no more isolated than he was anywhere else.

The vibrations in his pocket took him by surprise and he pulled the phone free, sliding to answer, “What?”  
  
“Very gruff today, aren’t you?” Bilbo’s cultured voice came over the line. “I was simply calling to wish you Happy Christmas… and to see how you’re doing.”  
  
Perhaps he wasn’t as isolated as he’d thought.

“Oh… Nollaig Shona duit!” Thorin offered in return. 

“Gaelic?! I didn’t know you- Well, I suppose there are a good many things I don’t know about you.”  
  
“There are, indeed.” Thorin leaned against his bike seat. He should be ending the call and heading home, but there was something calming about Bilbo’s voice.  
  
“How are you?”

“I’m doing…” he hesitated with the words on his tongue.

“Are you brooding?”

“Why do you think that word even belongs to me?”  
  
“You’re a brooder. It’s not hard to tell. Last night you were brooding on the phone with me.” Bilbo pointed out. “You would get all quiet and make these little growling sounds. It was sort of _cute_. There really isn’t a better word.”  
  
Thorin laughed, so easily it surprised him, turning his back to the gates he’d been so focused on.  
  
“I was actually going to tell you that I’ll be returning to London in a few days, so I can just bring your phone then, if that’s alright?”  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo answered immediately. “Wait, so does that mean - uh I mean, I can give you my address when you… or we could…”  
  
“We’ll figure it out when I get back into town. I’ll give you a call and we’ll set up an exchange.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo held his breath for a moment after they said goodbye, pressing the phone between his hands and resting his forehead against them.

“I almost asked him on a date!?” He said so loudly Frodo jumped, dropping his tablet on the ground.  
  
“You what?”  
  
“I almost-” Bilbo set the phone down, paling under his nephew’s gaze. “I almost asked him out on a date.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Frodo laugh harder, and he also wasn’t sure he’d ever been more offended by his nephew’s laughter, wrinkling his face in distaste.

“Yes that’s quite enough,” Bilbo said. “Haha, yes, you’re very funny.” He caught Frodo’s hood and pulled his over his head as he passed.  
  
“Are you going to ask him out?” Frodo said from beneath the fabric.  
  
“Frodo Baggins! Mind your own business,” Bilbo scolded.  
  
Nothing he said would stop the way his heart raced now with each new text, nothing could readjust his near-miss.

Nothing could keep his mind from wandering to the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to feel something more than just a little friendship.

 

* * *

 

There is a saying that anything that can go wrong  _will_ go wrong.

Two days after Christmas marked the end of the first week. And the beginning of the end.

“Boys, I’ll be back down in a minute, alright?” Thorin said around the suitcase he was carrying, climbing to the third floor.  
  
“Kíli, grab that-” Fíli stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stepped aside to let another person pass.  
  
“Good morning,” the boy’s companion greeted, grinning.  
  
“Hello!” Kíli said eagerly, bounding up to them with his rucksack over his shoulder.  
  
“Are you moving in?” One asked.  
  
“For a while,” Fíli nodded. “I’m Fíli Durinson, this is my brother, Kíli.”  
  
“I’m Frodo Baggins, we live on the second floor.”  
  
“Peregrin Took! At your service!” The blond beside the one named Frodo slung his arm around his neck. “We’re cousins.”  
  
“Baggins?” Kíli’s lips parted and Fíli barely contained a screech behind his fist.  
  
“Yes?” Frodo tilted his head.  
  
“You wouldn’t… happen to know someone named Bilbo?” Fíli’s chest filled with delight.

The next day was the first fire alarm.

 _Oh yes_ , Murphy’s law was in full swing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [malvinnia](http://malvinnia.tumblr.com/) for being a wonderful beta and don't forget to check me out on [tumblr](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I feel that I’ve seen this conversation somewhere, like one of those ridiculous pictures of bad dating site pick up lines.”

When his sister had suggested the boys stay with him, he hadn’t quite expected the uproar it would cause. They burst into his house like a whirlwind and suddenly made it _theirs_ with their clothes everywhere, and trash overflowing, and cords for electronics - which Thorin considered more like tentacles than anything else - winding their way around the furniture and tripping him up.

He also discovered that they had one mind and it was difficult to read, especially when an idea occurred to them that they weren’t about to let go of.

“We’re going out!” Fíli called, yanking a scarf around his neck as they passed back by the kitchen.

“Boys!” Thorin caught Kíli’s jacket as he passed. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Out! We have some friends here in London!” Kíli piped up, grinning like mad.  
  
Thorin felt, deep in his chest, that something strange was at work. He didn’t like how the brothers glanced at each other and snickered, how they seemed to be in league with mischief, as usual.  
  
“We won’t be back late, promise,” Fíli swore, fist to his heart.  
  
“Who are you going out with?” Thorin felt that he should _at least_ ask.  
  
“Just some _friends_! We’ll be together the whole time, don’t worry,” Kíli insisted and worked his brother’s jacket out of Thorin’s grip.  
  
“Keep in touch, alright?” Thorin peered after them, eyes narrowed. “And look after each other!”

**_Teenagers are a mystery_ **

**It doesn’t get any better when they turn 20.**

 

* * *

 

Fíli had always wondered what the inside of the pub across the street from his uncle’s house would look like, with its old English front and heavy oak doors, and was delighted to have his thoughts affirmed. There was something appealing about the tourist’s version of London - it was friendly and inviting in a way that modern pubs weren’t.

He almost felt dwarfed by the massive bar tables and the beautiful wooden booths, heels just barely off the ground from the height of the seats, but the warmth of the air and the heavy scent of ale quickly eroded that discomfort.

“Gentlemen!” Pippin dropped the beers down in front of them all. “Cheers!”  
  
“So… what exactly do we do about this?” Fíli asked. “They obviously don’t know.”  
  
“Just jump right in, why don’t you!” Merry leaned in.  
  
“Well this is all very exciting!” Kíli tapped his hands on the table. “ _We_ know, but they don’t!”  
  
“We could try to get them together? Uncle Bilbo is a slow mover,” Frodo murmured.

"Trust me - Uncle Thorin's the champ. In all my life I've only seen him with someone _once_ and that was before..." Kíli hesitated. "Anyway, we gotta get them to meet, yeah? That's the first step."

"I suggested we chance it and see if they meet organically?" Sam offered. "I think you all are putting too much thought into this."

"Thorin's going to mail the phone back tomorrow!" Fíli frowned.

"Shouldn't he recognize the address?" Sam said sensibly.

"Bilbo will have probably used his office address," Frodo shook his head. "He hates getting mail at the house because it piles up. The secretaries sort the mail at the school."

"So we need to force it." Fíli sighed. He glanced toward the door, brows knitting when a familiar figure passed through.

"Hello boys, fancy seeing you here!" a female voice drew the others' attention.

"Tauriel!" Kíli was on his feet in an instant, grinning madly. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my cousin," she gestured to the person behind her.

Fíli wasn't sure he liked the way his brother bristled, and prayed he wouldn't cause a scene in the bar, but that didn't keep him from feeling a hot pang of confusion and suspicion.

"Legolas," Kíli said stiffly in greeting.

"How's it going?" Frodo's voice was the only friendly one.

"Frodo! Sam! And Merry and Pippin! What are you doing, slumming it with these trogs?" Legolas' face brightened.

"Hey! These fine gentlemen have better manners at least," Pippin scolded. "You all know each other?"

"Yes," Fíli caught his brother's jacket. "Sort of." 

"Our families knew each other well, _once_ ," Legolas snickered.

"You backstabbing piece of fil-" Fíli jerked his younger brother to keep him from continuing.

"Legolas," Tauriel's brows knitted and Fíli was thankful for her dedication to his brother. "Can't you let it go?" 

"The Oakenshields aren't -"

"You can cork it or I'll have him let Kíli go,” Tauriel said and Fíli gave his brother a tug as an example.

"What's the problem here?" Merry frowned. "You lot don't like each other?"

"Our families used to be close," Fíli sighed. "Sit _down_ , Kíli!" He finally pulled him back into the booth.

"Then their great-grandfather gambled away their peerage," Legolas said matter-of-factly.

That time neither brother moved, but the stricken look on Kíli's face was telling enough.

"Peerage? You're titled?" Pippin asked, face slack.

"Our uncle is. Sort of. He's never officially taken the seat," Fíli shrugged a shoulder.

"As if they’d-" a hand slapped against Legolas’ chest and caught his lapel.

"You're going to be picking up pieces of shattered kneecaps very shortly, Cousin," she told him and his face quickly sank.

Fíli couldn't help but jeer over his brother's shoulder, pleased.

“If you’re defending them you’re as bad as they are,” Legolas hissed at her and she narrowed her eyes.  
  
“At least then I have some _honor_.”  
  
If Fíli wouldn’t have been attempting to remain calm in front of their new cohorts, he might have whooped.

"Go outside. I'm going to take his noble highness home," Tauriel shoved him away and turned back to them, leaning on the table. "I'm sorry. I saw you coming in and didn't think."

"It's okay," Kíli murmured. "About breaking his kneecaps..." 

"No," she touched the tip of his nose. "I'll see you later."

"Okay," Kíli watched her go, eyes longing. "Ugh..."

"I know she's too good for you," Fíli laughed. "I'm sorry, that was..." He looked to their new friends.

"Intense..." Merry stared at his drink. "I've never know Legolas to be that way..."

"The Oropherions swear my great-grandfather stole from them," Fíli sighed. "So when shit went down they wouldn't help us."

"Uncle has never forgiven them. I'm not sure he would forgive anyone in the peerage at this point."

“Well... that explains things…” Merry’s face softened. “Maybe you  can change that? Legolas is pretty understanding… I bet if you all sat down and talked, you could…”  
  
“Maybe… But right now I’m much more worried about my Uncle and how we’re going to get these two idiots to meet.” Fíli directed the conversation away from the uncomfortable topic, glancing at his brother.  
  
“We could pull the fire alarms,” Pippin said after a long moment of quiet.  
  
“We _could_ do that,” Fíli agreed.

_If we want to get arrested._

 

* * *

 

**My upstairs neighbor has been playing ridiculously loud dubstep music all day. The pictures are rattling on the walls.**

**_Play some equally loud bagpipe battle songs to show them you’re equally serious about your musical enjoyment_ **

Bilbo laughed aloud at his response and propped his feet up on the coffee table. If they boys had been there he wouldn’t have _dreamed_ of it, but seeing as it was _his_ house… well - he could very well do as he pleased.  
  
 **It stopped a while ago, perhaps you should check your phone more often?**

**_Sorry my nephews are in town with me this time and I was dealing with them_ **

**It’s understandable. Have fun!**

He tucked the phone down against his hip and opened his book, settling in for a long read. It had been a while since he’d lost himself in the pages of a favorite book - too busy with the boys or with attempting to cram as much information into the brains of his students as possible.

He had always believed that a person’s favorite novel said things about them - Frodo had argued the same for movies and video games and he couldn’t disagree. To immerse oneself in a singular task, to delve deeply into the created world and uncover every last detail, there was an admirable level of determination there - and just what exactly was chosen for such immersion was indicative of so many things.

**_Are you busy?_ **

Another text interrupted his thoughts and he hesitated over his answer. If he said _no,_ then something was going to happen. If he said _yes._ he could continue reading - but would miss the chance to talk to Thorin again. He looked mournfully to the cover of his book - _Of Human Bondage_ by W. Somerset Maugham - and answered.

 **No**  

_To hell with it._

Within moments he found himself picking up the phone and answering it, glad the boys weren’t there to see his moment of weakness.  
  
“What are you up to that can be so easily thrown aside for a phone call from a stranger?”  
  
“Have you ever heard of niceties or greetings?” Bilbo folded his legs and braced his book against his knee.  
  
“You knew I was going to call you, you are aware of who I am, why do I need to greet you?”  
  
“Because it’s polite.”  
  
“So what are you doing?”  
  
“I feel that I’ve seen this conversation somewhere, like one of those ridiculous pictures of bad dating site pick up lines.”  
  
“ _Bruh_.”  
  
The word surprised him so badly he guffawed, covering his mouth in penitence. Thorin’s laugh took him by surprise as well, but it settled his nerves.  
  
“I think that’s how my nephews communicate with each other.”  
  
“Varying intonations of the word _bruh_?” Bilbo chuckled.  
  
“Yes, so I thought I’d try it out.”  
  
Lost again. Talking to Thorin was like wandering in a forest and never wanting to leave - warm and inviting, with a hundred paths to take and never a cause for worry. Bilbo had wanted to ask him what his favorite book was, if he liked coffee, where he had been educated - he had so many questions still and so few answers - but ended up listening to a story about how a friend of Thorin’s had jumped off the roof of her friend’s house and into the pool below.  
  
“That sounds like something I would have done. Then I became a professor.” Bilbo admitted.  
  
“What did you want to be?”  
  
“I wanted to be a writer! The next Jack Kerouac!” Bilbo laughed.  
  
What a ridiculous notion to him now: the idea of being a full time writer with a family and rent to pay.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was quiet for a long moment, pondering the words Bilbo had said. _I wanted to be_. Something had changed, likely his nephew, something had made Bilbo settle down and forget about his dreams.

Was Thorin _really_ any different?

“When I was young, I wanted to be a doctor,” Thorin admitted, pouring himself a cup of tea.

“Really? What did you end up being?”  
  
“I went into the Royal Marines when I was seventeen. Kind of a family tradition.”  
  
“My family tradition has always been: try to be as normal as possible. At least one half of my family. The other half is as far from normal as humanly possible.”  
  
“That must be the side of you that takes risks, eh?” Thorin braced the phone against his shoulder and made his way into his living room, careful not to step on the boys’ electronics. “Teenagers are demons.”  
  
Bilbo’s laugh was one worth hearing again, sharp and bright like a bell, and he wondered what it would be like to hear it all the time - entertained the thought of hearing it without the filter of the phone. He wondered what it would be like to feel the sound against his ear, or to hear it in the hallways of his house.

“That they are,” Bilbo paused again. “Every time I talk to you, I forget just exactly how long we’ve been talking.”  
  
“There’s a counter if your time is so precious,” he said playfully.  
  
“No _no,_ that’s not what I meant! I just -”  
  
“I understand. No need to explain.”  
  
“I just mean I -”  
  
He didn’t hear exactly what Bilbo said, though he knew it was sheepish, because Fíli and Kíli burst through the front door at exactly that moment - laughing and talking at the top of their lungs.

“Hey Uncle!” Kíli greeted and flopped down on top of him on the couch.

“Ugh - wash up before you go to bed!” Thorin wrinkled his nose. “You smell like smoke!”  
  
“We were in a pub, what did you expect? Hello!” Kíli said to the phone.  
  
“How drunk did you two get?” Thorin grumbled, hearing Bilbo laugh in his ear again. “Get off, Slug, I’m on the phone.”  
  
“Hello Bilbo!”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo felt a pang of excitement spike up into his heart, surprised and warmed by the idea that Thorin had told his nephews his name.

 _He’s been talking about me?_  
  
He listened to the sound of a struggle, hearing the laughter between kin, and waited for Thorin to return.  
  
“I’m sorry, my nephews are a handful,” he was panting when he returned, as if he’d wrestled for the phone.

“I like talking to you like this,” Bilbo blurted out, holding his breath immediately after in the silence. 

In that moment Bilbo reconsidered his entire life, squeezing his eyes shut and baring his teeth at the unknown. After what felt like an eternity -  
  
“That feels like a confession,” Thorin answered.  
  
“Maybe.” Bilbo swallowed the tension in his throat, trying to push his heart back into his chest.  
  
The next moment of quiet had Bilbo tugging at the collar of his sweater.  
  
“Have dinner with me?”  
  
If he had opened his mouth at that moment no sound would have made it out, except an adolescent giggle and a whine of releasing tension.  
  
“Have you passed out?”  
  
“No-Nope, I am… _fine_.” He slapped a hand over his face, pressing his palm tightly to the burning in his cheeks.  
  
“Dinner?”  
  
“Of _fucking_ course,” he agreed.  
  
“Then I suppose I’ll just keep your phone until then?” There was a smile on the smoke and whiskey edges of his voice, warm and liquid and pouring into Bilbo’s blood.  
  
“I… suppose you will…” his voice was more breathless than he would have liked.

“Uncle Thorin!” Bilbo heard one of the boys in the background again.

“I should see to that…” Oh God, these pauses were going to be the death of him. “Good night.”  
  
“G-Good night,” he slapped the phone down onto the couch and threw himself out from under his blanket and straight to the window, shoving the panes open and howling into the cold air all of the tension and joy that had threatened to burst from his chest. He laughed until the chill had entered deep into his skin and sank its teeth into his bones, soothing the burning in his heart.

How long had it been, since he’d felt this way? 

* * *

 

Thorin heard the sound of someone yelling and looked to the window, watching Fíli perk up from where he had thrown himself onto the floor of Thorin’s room.  
  
“Well, that was weird…” Kíli said after a moment of quiet, standing in the doorway with a soda in his hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg. thank [my beta](http://malvinnia.tumblr.com/) for how well this chapter turned out ok?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The _accursed_ phone.

The fire alarm woke him and had him staggering out of bed, terrified of what could be happening. He pulled on his jacket and found the boys in the hallway, looking groggy and disheveled and mostly drunk, and shepherded them out into the cold.

If he had paid attention, he would have considered the snickers that passed between Frodo and Merry as odd - considering how dumbstruck they all seemed by the whining sirens of the apartment building. 

If he had not been so groggy, he would have paid attention when a pair of young men walked out of the building, glancing over at his flock with concerned looks - but he didn’t consider any of those things, scowling prissily at the front door as if perhaps _it_ was to blame for the rude awakening he’d received.

When they were allowed to re-enter, he also didn’t notice - or tried to ignore - the strange disappointment  on the faces of his nephew and his friends.

What on _earth_ could they be disappointed about?  
  
That the house didn’t burn down in the flames of their stupidity?

 

* * *

 

“So there was a fire alarm yesterday?” Thorin asked, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea.  
  
“Yeah! Where the heck were you?!” Fíli set a plate of food in front of his younger brother. “We couldn’t find you anywhere!”  
  
“I had to meet a friend,” Thorin dismissed their curiosity, looking at them over his newspaper thoughtfully. “Why are you so concerned with my whereabouts, anyway?”  
  
“We just…”

“It was scary!” Kíli said bluntly. “What if everything had burnt down?”  
  
“But it didn’t, did it?”   
  
Mischief should have been his nephews’ middle names. If ever there were two boys _up to something,_ it was these two - they reeked of it.  
  
“No, I… suppose it... didn’t…” Fíli admitted. “What are you doing today?”  
  
“I’m thinking about cutting my hair,” he answered, still watching them. His eyes flickered to Kíli’s fingers, hastily typing away at his phone. “What are you two up to?”  
  
“Up to!? Us!?” Fíli scrubbed the pan he’d cooked in, ever the dutiful one. “We just wanted to know where you were!”  
  
“Well, now-”  
  
The fire alarm screamed above them and Thorin hesitated to move, eyeing his nephews.   
  
“I guess we should evacuate,” he sighed, then rose and pulled his jacket on with little to no panic - never relenting his gaze.

He kept a close eye on them, even as he pulled his hair back into a ponytail on their way down. The marble tile on the floor echoed beneath his boots, a cold wash of nostalgia over his senses, but he pulled himself out of it when they walked out into the cold.  
  
He took in the crowd standing outside, eyes narrowing when they landed on a huddle of college students. Kíli was his best bet. Kíli would break. He had tells and a youthful eagerness that Fíli had learned to hide.

And Kíli directed him right to the group of college students.  
  
Oh yes. Something strange _was_ going on.

“Another fire alarm, huh?” He jerked his head to see his nephew’s - friend? girlfriend? what was she? - standing at his elbow.   
  
“You just appear everywhere, don’t you?” Thorin asked, amused.  
  
“My cousin and uncle live in this building,” she shrugged.   
  
“Tauriel!” Ah he was wondering when Kíli would notice her.  
  
“Lots of families here lately… and where are they?” He asked above the chatter of conversation that bloomed in the cold air, warm and eager.   
  
“They left for some function I was thankfully not invited to,” she offered him a disarming smile.

When he looked back to find the college students his nephew had led him to, walking back into the building, he was sorely disappointed to find that they had already vanished inside.

_Something… isn’t right..._

 

* * *

 

**_Do you ever think that something is going on that you don’t know about?_ **

**Yes. All the time.**

**_Is that a teenage boy thing? I don’t remember being like this_ **

**Of course you don’t. You probably weren’t a terror.**

Thorin smiled, dropping the phone onto his bed and crossing to the bathroom to shower, sighing when he let his hair down after a long day of chasing the boys around the city. He was bound and determined to keep them in his sight, still suspicious of their actions the day before, and they had lead him on a merry chase halfway across London.

The shower was a welcome relief for the chill on his skin, hot and bracing, and he groaned lightly under its spray. It was good to be at home and comfortable again, to roll his shoulder out in the mist.  
  
He was considering a haircut again as he sank his fingers in his hair to work the shampoo into a lather - sighing a little at just how much it had grown out since he’d been overseas. If even the boys were growing their hair out to match him it was probably time - plus he missed running his hand over the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He should have known. He should have _felt it_. Half a second before the alarm went off he closed his eyes - as if he _had_ known.  
  
“Is there no god?” He asked the showerhead. “There is no god.”  
  
On the one hand, it could be another pulled alarm, something he was almost certain was his nephews’ doing, but on the other hand, it could be a _fire_ and he needed to leave as quickly as possible.  
  
“For Christssake!” he swore and shut the shower off _reluctantly_. “I _will_ kill them.” He pulled a bathrobe on and tried to think on his way out of all the ways he could creatively reduce his nephews to bloody pulps without ruining the rugs - water streaming from his still-sodden hair.  
  


* * *

 

“Again!?” Bilbo met Gandalf outside the building. “This is bloody ridiculous!”  
  
“Could be a fire,” the old man answered. “Though the first two times weren’t.”  
  
“I just _cannot_ believe this!” He stomped his foot. “I do not want to stand out here in the c-”   
  
His complaints died on his lips when a soggy, angry looking man - complete with suds still in his hair - stalked out of the front door. He thought he might have heard Gandalf snort behind him, but ignored it in favor of looking at the spare bit of skin he could see between the layers of the man’s coat and his bathrobe.  
  
 _What a day to be alive._

He became aware, quite suddenly, that he was ogling a stranger on the street - but he found that his gaze was being returned and couldn’t pull his eyes away.  
  
 _Something seems familiar_.   
  
The man stared at him, face half hidden beneath dripping curls, with an oddly familiar look - as if he recognized him - and Bilbo flushed under the intensity of it.

As quickly as it had turned on, the alarm ended and Bilbo lingered briefly, watching the stranger leave, head tilted just slightly. Gandalf nudged his elbow, pushing him back towards the entrance, but he remained rooted to the spot - trying to figure out why the man had seemed so familiar.

_Ah… well. We do live in the same building..._

 

* * *

 

 

“What did you _do_?” The words were out of his mouth before the boys were past the front door.   
  
“What did who do?” Kíli ducked back slightly.

“Why have you been pulling the fire alarms? And how long have you _known he lives in this building_?”  
  
If there was ever an emotion that easily translated into _Oh fuck_ it was present on Kíli’s face _…_ distinctly echoed in Fíli’s features as well.  
  
“What are you talking about, Uncle?” Fíli asked, brows knitting.  
  
Thorin had been stewing all day, sitting on his hands and waiting for them to return. He wasn’t sure how many times he’d paced around the house, but he would leather their hides in less time - and with less patience.  
  
“ _Bilbo lives in this building._ ”  
  
“Does he?” Kíli feigned innocence, though it didn’t work - and he knew it.  
  
“Is that why you were pulling the _fire alarms?!”_  
  
“Well, we… knew you were going to send the phone back and…”  
  
“ _How did you find out?_ ” He could only imagine what he must have looked like. “You’re in this with Bilbo’s nephew aren’t you?”  
  
The look of stunned shock that passed between them said that they hadn’t expected him to figure _that_ out.  
  
“Do you think he hasn’t told me about Frodo? Or that he has a bunch of friends here from university? Did you think - good question - _did_ you _think_?”  
  
“We thought… We wanted you to be happy and…” Kíli’s answer was so sweet, so innocent, and it shattered his anger into a thousand pieces.  
  
Everything he’d had planned to say to them fell away into an empty sigh and he leaned his hip against the back of the couch, rubbing his temples until the headache had dulled slightly. Here he was, standing in front of two boys who had broken the law _to make him happy_! What did he even say? What could he respond with? _How_ could he respond?  
  
“You shouldn’t have pulled the fire alarm,” he said, voice rough.   
  
“We… wanted it to be… a surprise? Like a romantic comedy!” Kíli offered a smile.  
  
“Fíli, how did _you_ get caught up in this?”   
  
“I dunno... It didn’t seem like it was that bad an idea…”  
  
“You’re lucky the firemen didn’t come,” Thorin straightened up. “I had this whole…”  
  
“You cut your hair!” Kíli gasped. “You cut all your hair off!” He stepped cautiously closer, as if he was walking towards an unfriendly lion.   
  
“I did,” he confirmed and ran his fingers through the longer locks at the top. “Does it… look bad?” He was disarmed yet again by his nephew’s innocence, chest aching for being so angry.   
  
“No, it looks good,” Fíli confirmed, tiling his head. “Did you do that because of Bilbo?”  
  
He wanted to say _no_. He wanted to say that he’d done it simply because he’d wanted to - which he had - but seeing Bilbo outside the flats with his hair half frozen was certainly not a detriment to the idea.

“I’ve been meaning to cut it,” he answered calmly. “Listen, I -” His jaw dropped open at the alarm this time and he glared at the boys.  
  
“No, Uncle. This wasn’t us…” Fíli said, rushing the words out of his mouth. “Frodo and the guys are all out tonight, we were going to meet them, and we’re here with you.”  
  
He lingered for a long moment, staring at them, then snatched up his jacket and shoved them towards the door again, cramming a hat down over his already-cool head. He heard running footsteps from below them, taking the stairs ahead of the boys to make sure all the doors on the bottom floors were open.  
  
“Uncle, come on!” Kíli called as Thorin turned down the second floor hallway.  
  
“I’m going to make sure everyone’s out!” He answered and passed by the doors on that floor before following his nephews down.   
  
He emerged, frowning slightly against the grey sunlight, and walked swiftly down the stairs. He couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to Bilbo, seeing him clutching his scarf around his throat and talking angrily to a man Thorin knew very well.

“Uncle, he’s right over there!” Thorin tapped out a message and looked up from his phone as Kíli pressed close to his side.   
  
“I see him, Kíli,” he murmured.

_Oh God, do I see him._

He was handsome in a youthful way: all hazel eyes and brunette curls that clung to his forehead and cheeks in the misty London air. There was something dreamy about seeing him this way, unaware of how close they were, with his nose wrinkled in the cold and a slight downturn to his lips.

Anxiety finally burned his nerves, heart tight in his throat as he waited - watching Bilbo slip the phone out of his pocket and glance at the screen.

 

* * *

 

 

The _accursed_ phone.

Bilbo looked to Gandalf’s curious face before checking the screen, slipping the phone out of his pocket as the truck sirens neared.  
  
 ** _If you’re reading this I suggest you look up_**

“Look up? Where?” He asked aloud, obviously baffled. His eyes passed over the man he’d been staring at. “What a ridicu-”

“Of course.” Realization settled heavy into the pit of his stomach and Bilbo watched the man lift his phone, struggling to breathe. “Of course…” He slid to answer the call the moment it vibrated in his palm. “Hello?” He licked his lips, trying to keep his voice steady.   
  
“It would seem that we are in the middle of a conspiracy.”   
  
This was not how Bilbo had wanted to meet him for the first time - standing out in the cold damp of a London evening, in his house slippers and jumper.   
  
_He’s been right here all along._

He watched Thorin approach, too stunned to speak, and clutched the phone in his hand until his knuckles ached - as if letting the phone go might send him reeling off into space.  
  
“You can put the thing down now.”  
  
Thorin. _The_ Thorin. The one whose phone he had unwittingly stolen two weeks before, the one who had teased him about his music choices, the Thorin that had spent hours talking to him about nothing at all - he was standing before Bilbo in all his glory, real and solid and sporting a half smile that struck his heart with a knife.

“You’re real!” He nearly dropped the phone. “Oh God, you’re real!” He couldn’t stop himself from throwing his arms around Thorin’s neck in an obviously familiar gesture. “You’re real!”  
  
Before he knew it, he had Thorin’s arms wrapped tightly around him as well and he was breathing in the scent of cologne and clean skin and the laugh he’d heard so many times through the phone was pressed tight against his temple.  
  
“Did you think I was a ghost?” Thorin’s voice was velvet against his ear, warm and affectionate.  
  
Bilbo couldn’t speak, torn between overwhelming emotions that threatened to spill over, and the desire to retain _some_ kind of composure. He hadn’t realized, until this very moment, just how much he’d come to care about the stranger from the Tube - and how much he had yet to learn.  
  
“Oh, your hair,” he finally said, voice thick. “You cut all your hair off.”  
  
“Maybe I just have it all shoved under the cap, yeah?”   
  
And when they finally parted and Bilbo was able to reach up and tug at the edges of said cap, he couldn’t help but search Thorin’s eyes - drinking in their color. He was _here_. Not a voice on the other end of the line or a text message sitting in his inbox or a _mystery_ anymore.  
  
“Are we… still on for dinner?” Bilbo asked, face pulling into a smile.  
  
“I certainly hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to **[malvinnia](http://malvinnia.tumblr.com/)** for being a fabulous beta and don't forget to check me out on **[tumblr](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wished he was more eloquent, cursing the way his heart fluttered against its cage and left him weak.

“So they’ve been planning this from the beginning, eh?” Bilbo asked.

He was still in shock, standing in the kitchen as he prepared tea, trying to collect his nerves as best he could with _Thorin_ in his living room, having invited him on impulse for tea - despite having little to no knowledge of the man beyond hearing his voice on the phone.  
  
“Let me help you.”  
  
 _Oh God._ Thorin in his kitchen.

“No. No, that’s alright. I am… perfectly capable of…” he jerked around and nearly collided with his… what was he anyway? His friend? Acquaintance? “Oh.”  
  
“You’re very fussy, you know that?” Thorin said, his eyes twinkling despite his humorless face. “We don’t need a tray.”  
  
“I’m just…” he couldn’t understand why his breath came in shallow bursts, close enough to Thorin that he had to tilt his head back to look into his face, or why a subtle panic had set into his chest. “Ah… yes, I… suppose we could…”  
  
“In the kitchen is fine. I won’t be insulted by the regular tea cups, no need to go out of your way.”  
  
Thorin’s face was kind, sweet in a way, as if he didn’t think it was worth the trouble to invest so much time into preparing all that Bilbo had - of course, most of it had been purely to keep himself busy and to stop his hands from shaking with nerves.

“Then… then that’s what we’ll do…” Bilbo tried for a smile but he was certain it came off queasy.

Thorin was too much for his kitchen. Despite his neatly trimmed hair- more modern than Bilbo would have expected - and the thick cardigan, there was something almost _unnatural_ about him. Some strange elegance or nobility, like the crownless king of some long lost land - an aura that took Bilbo’s breath away.

“Of course. May I take anything?” He offered his hands.  
  
 _Me?_ His cheeks flushed at the thought, looking down at Thorin’s palms, dumbfounded for a moment.  
  
“Oh… the… here…” he wished he was more eloquent, cursing the way his heart fluttered against its cage and left him weak.  
  
Thorin took the offered cups with a gracious smile and walked to the kitchen table, sitting down and stretching out his long legs.

Bilbo tried _very_ hard not to let his thoughts turn south, but it was incredibly difficult with _this_ in his kitchen. 

 

* * *

 

Thorin had spent much of the last twenty minutes very amused: Bilbo didn’t seem capable of higher functioning currently and it was every bit as charming to Thorin as it was utterly embarrassing for his new friend. None of that seemed to stop Bilbo from staring at him, though.

“The kettle,” Thorin said, meeting Bilbo’s eyes levelly.  
  
“Kettle? Oh! Tea!” He jumped as if stuck with a hot poker and Thorin laughed - unusual for being in the presence of someone other than his family. “Gracious, I’m just… not myself today.”  
  
“Well, the boys have been keeping you busy.”  
  
“Oh, yes. Running around every hour of the day with _your_ troublemakers. Pulling fire alarms and conspiring behind our backs.” Bilbo scoffed, falling into conversation at last. “I… should have noticed.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have if Fíli and Kíli weren’t terrible liars. I made the connection when they told me about the first fire alarm, I was visiting a friend here in the city.”  
  
“Oh, yes… That first alarm was… You were in the shower the last time?”  
  
Thorin scowled, running his knuckles through his hair, “Unfortunately, yes. It would seem that for all their infinite wisdom, the boys didn’t consider other people.”

Bilbo laughed, and it was the most beautiful thing Thorin had ever heard. 

 _I’m in deep, aren’t I?_ He thought and shielded his eyes behind his fingers, Bilbo’s words melting into the background. _It’s been two weeks, Thorin Oakenshield, get your shit together._

Their conversation after that was fluid, soft and easy, and he took in every tiny movement of Bilbo’s face, animated as it was. He learned that Bilbo talked with his hands, gesticulating wildly, that he wrinkled his nose when he remembered something unpleasant, and that he laughed without restraint, emotions plain in his features.

Bilbo also let things slip, little pieces of himself that he offered through genial movements and warm words, and Thorin found himself enchanted - desperately wanting more than what a cup of tea could offer him.

Everything Bilbo said and did was new and unique to him, and he relished in it. He’d spent his entire life dealing with military personnel with stoic faces and words with hidden meanings; he’d been trained to read miniscule changes in nonverbal communication, to deduce answers from fragments of clues in a liar’s speech. Bilbo, however, told him everything he needed to know - without hesitation.

“Oh goodness, look at the time!” Bilbo said, spurring Thorin out of his own thoughts. “I should do something about dinner! Would you… I mean, if you have somewhere else to… stay for dinner?”  
  
His words were jumbled, yet another endearing quality that Thorin was sure would wear away with time and comfort, but they gave Thorin another idea.  
  
“Why don’t we go get dinner? Or a drink somewhere? When was the last time you went out?”  
  
He knew he’d said the right thing when Bilbo sputtered for a moment, cheeks pink, and traced a fingertip around the lip of his cup almost bashfully.  
  
“I… the boys are always telling me to get out of the house, but…”  
  
“Good, then, no excuses!” Thorin rose from his chair. “Dinner and a drink it is.”  
  
“Dinner and a drink, indeed,” Thorin smiled at the feigned resignation in Bilbo’s voice.

 

* * *

  

If dinner had gone any better, it would have been a dream.

Fortunately it _wasn’t_ a dream and he spent the entire time wrapped up in conversation. Thorin seemed, at times, to be happy simply listening to whatever story Bilbo could draw up - which was a bit of a relief, considering Bilbo’s nervous habit of _vomiting up whatever came to the front of his mind_. One story in particular had Thorin laughing for what felt like an eternity, still chuckling every time he reminded himself that Bilbo had once accidentally stolen a kitten from a pet store and was so heartbroken to see it go, that he returned and _paid_ for it.

Bilbo didn’t think it was nearly as funny as Thorin did, grouching good naturedly for a while over port wine and empty plates.

He had discovered that Thorin in person was drastically different from Thorin over the phone, at least it felt that way, because the way he had imagined his - he still didn’t have a word? Friend? _Date?_ Was this a date? - had been someone with an easy smile and a visage as expressive as his words.  
  
Thorin seemed to smile with his eyes, and winning an outburst of laughter had been the highlight of Bilbo’s evening, but that made him no less interesting to converse with. He delved deep and drew up stories from Thorin’s own past, learned about the boys and their father and how Thorin’s sister worried about him. _Why_ she was worried about him was left ambiguous, but Bilbo was intelligent enough to realize it must have had something to do with being in the military.  
  
He would have worried as well. Once in the middle of dinner a tray came crashing down and Thorin’s knuckles blanched on the armrest of his chair, something Bilbo didn’t miss, and he _almost_ asked… but thought better of it. Now was not the time. It was private and personal and Bilbo was only an acquaintance.

However, it didn’t take too much to figure out. He’d had veterans in his classes before, had seen the shellshocked way their faces paled at slamming doors or how anxiety mounted when exams neared. They were incredible at pushing through, all of them had been driven and intelligent, but he couldn’t help but wonder what they would have been like without the burdens they bore on their young shoulders.

“Do you want to head out?” Thorin asked. “I think we probably should.”  
  
“Oh yes. I’m sorry. I was just… wow. We’ve been together for hours now…” Bilbo breathed, realizing just how long he’d been in Thorin’s company - real, physical company.

“We have been,” Thorin agreed, a smile softening his features and wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

 _I feel like I’ve missed you._ He realized as they left the restaurant, quiet in the cool London air. _Like we’re old friends and you’ve just returned from a long trip._

“Is something wrong?” Thorin looked down at him and Bilbo’s heart jumped into his throat.  
  
“No! Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking that… it’s been a long time since I got out. I’m glad you talked me into it… but now that I’m out here, I’m not sure I want to go back!” His grin was a little sloppier than he would have liked, eased by the dessert wine they’d had. “Tonight feels like a night to settle into a corner booth and drink until the tab runs out.”

“Sounds romantic,” Thorin said pleasantly and Bilbo’s cheeks burned.  
  
“It… does, I guess…”

“Then we had better find a booth to settle into, post haste.”

“Post haste,” Bilbo murmured in agreement, feeling heat in the tips of his ears.

Their walk was leisurely, conversation slow in the cold, and Bilbo almost wished it wouldn’t end… almost felt disappointment when they slowed in front of a pub Thorin had mentioned.  
  
“You said you wanted a corner booth, right?” Thorin smiled and Bilbo lingered for a moment to look at him, ignoring the door for now. “This place has some of the _darkest_.”  
  
A burst of heat from a passing patron felt like heaven on Bilbo’s chilled face, but he didn’t want to move, not when he was standing this close to Thorin, not when they were _this_ close. For a moment he thought Thorin might lean, or that _he_ might hazard pulling his hands free from his pockets.  
  
 _Romantic_ had been the word Thorin had said, and the air between them was nothing less than that - not with small flecks of snow passing in the air and Thorin’s lips parted ever so slightly and the silence hanging like a silver thread. He reached, letting his fingers dip into Thorin’s lapel.  
  
 _If I kissed you right now… What would you do?_ He searched Thorin’s eyes for an answer.  
  
The door swung open again and a group of college students emerged, yelling and laughing, and Bilbo withdrew his hand - moment lost.  
  
“We should go inside,” Thorin said, as if he knew what Bilbo had been thinking, catching the door before it could close.

“Yeah, we… we probably should,” Bilbo murmured and ducked under his arm.  
  
It was warm in the pub, almost stiflingly so, and Bilbo quickly shed his jacket - praying he’d return to homeostasis quickly before he began to sweat.  
  
“I’ll get us drinks. This place is veteran friendly,” Thorin said. “Sometimes being in the military has its perks: like half price booze.  
  
“Great, then I guess you’re buying all night,” Bilbo responded jokingly.  
  
“For you? Always.” Thorin smiled again. Oh, how Bilbo wished that smile wouldn’t make his heart leap every time.  
  
Thorin, ever a commanding presence, wasn’t easy to miss in the crowd and Bilbo made use of this to watch his every move. He was enjoying himself, probably a little too much, and part of that was having eyes on his date. Thorin was nothing short of good looking. It should be noted, however, that Bilbo had had _no_ idea what the man had looked like beneath his caveman like appearance… if there had ever been a pleasant surprise in Bilbo’s life it was this one.  
  
He glanced down, checking a text from his nephew, and slipped into texting - something that only a few weeks before he never would have done - playing as coy as possible. He didn’t want to give away just where they were or what they were doing _just_ yet. 

“Watch where you’re going,” he looked up to the sound of sloshing beers and the heavy thud of shoulders together. “Great ugly _cunt_.”  
  
“What did you just say?” Thorin’s sweater had foam drippings clinging to it, obviously from the collision and Bilbo tried to focus on those, rather than the words being said.  
  
“Don’t think I didn’t see you up there, flashing your officer card around,” the man snarled. “Think you earned it, eh?”  
  
“I think it would be best for you to walk away,” Thorin said calmly, voice level as he set down the ale at their booth.  
  
“What’s going on?” Bilbo looked to the man behind his friend, tilting his head.  
  
“Nothing. Just some drunken rabble is all. They were bothering me at the bar too,” but the first man hadn’t gone far, muttering to someone who obviously had the same opinion of Thorin. “No use dealing with them.”

"Probably just some RE motherfucker, yeah?" One said, loud enough that he was certain Thorin was _supposed_ to hear. Bilbo, watching Thorin visibly bristle, curled his fingers into Thorin's forearm. “Can’t see action behind a desk.”

"C'mon, it's not worth it," he murmured. "You just said that.”

"I should knock their teeth out."

Bilbo could feel the power in that arm, squeezing down against flexing muscles and pulling futilely. He hadn’t known Thorin to have a violent streak, but there was something in his eyes that said he was serious - something dark that Bilbo had yet to encounter.

"You should walk away. It doesn't matter what they say..." Bilbo tried again, sliding out of the booth as Thorin turned. “You don’t have to prove anything to this trash. You also don’t need an assault and battery charge… I mean all the items on the list of things you _don’t_ need to do, this entire situation checks them all off.” He gestured, trying to draw Thorin’s attention.  
  
“You should listen to him, _pog_.”  
  
Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he had to throw his body weight against his date to keep him from taking a step.  
  
“Tosser can’t even throw a punch without permission. Lotta good men died so you could order a drink you didn’t ea-” A white hot rage swallowed him whole, bitter and vicious that Thorin was being forced to endure this, and before he knew it his fist had collided fiercely with the bridge of the man’s nose, hard enough to knock him back into his friends.  
  
He also wasn’t sure what the crack that cut the air was.

“You should show more respect! You know _nothing_.” Bilbo snarled, adrenaline hot in his veins. “You should be ashamed of yourselves! Treat your fellow soldiers better!”  
  
“Holy _fuck_ ,” Thorin’s powerful hand caught Bilbo’s elbow. “Can I get some ice?” Bilbo registered Thorin’s voice above the din of the man and his friends clattering to get away, still trying to lecture them.

They obviously hadn’t expected actual retribution.  
  
“Trash. Horrible. Filthy degenerates.” Bilbo could hear his own words, muttered around the desperate desire to yell bloody murder. “What’s happening? I’m fine?” He lifted the hand he’d struck with. “Oh?”  
  
“Don’t look at it!” Thorin said anxiously.  
  
“Oh… goodness…” Bilbo paled visibly. “Oh my God…”  
  
“Look at me,” Thorin said and he ripped his eyes away from his mangled fingers, stomach churning. “Look at me.”  
  
“Okay…” He met Thorin’s eyes, staring into them until his sclera burned.  
  
“Take a deep breath,” Thorin’s voice slowed, deep and rich, “That’s good. Let it all out. Just keep breathing through it.”  
  
Bilbo didn’t register when Thorin packed ice around his hand, or when the emergency services vehicle arrived, but he did remember the warmth of Thorin’s hand against the side of his face and the steady rumble of his voice.

By the time the world returned to him, he was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed with his hand bound tightly against a support. He’d been agreeing to procedures for hours now, mind dulled by pain medication and exhaustion. Fortunately, he finally had a chance to gather his wits before he was released. A warm weight around his shoulders alerted him, the hair on the back of his neck prickling, and he realized a jacket had been placed on him.  
  
“Coat?” He reached up with his good hand and touched the felt, leaning into the collar to breathe in the scent. “Thorin?”  
  
“You were shivering,” he swivelled his head, squinting when he found Thorin circling back around the hospital bed. “I left your coat at the pub. I… I’ve already called and the bartender is going to hold it for me until tomorrow.”  
  
“You rescued me…” Bilbo reached for him with his unbound hand.  
  
“You… you _punched_ someone… for me.” Thorin caught his fingers. “I didn’t rescue you.”  
  
“You saved my fingers. What if I’d lost my fingers?” He wasn’t completely sober, he knew that, but the words still felt good to say, especially because Thorin finally smiled after standing guard like a German Shepherd the entire evening.  
  
“I shouldn’t have let that happen. I’m sorry.” Thorin drew closer.  
  
“You’re _so_ tall,” Bilbo murmured. “Did you know that?” He snorted a laugh when Thorin smiled again.  
  
“I… have been told that. Bilbo, I’m going to take you home soon, okay? I’m… so sorry I let this happen.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure why he kept apologizing. It was as if he was blaming himself for some idiots being drunk and trying to pick a fight. As if it was his fault that Bilbo had _struck_ someone. He learned something else, even drug addled and woozy, and that was that Thorin thought he bore the weight of the world on his own. 

“Thorin.”  
  
“I let you be _hurt_ on our first date! Our first date literally ended with a trip to the hospital!”  
  
“Thorin.”  
  
“Of all the things I could have let happen! I just wanted to spend time with you -”  
  
Bilbo stopped trying and caught his date by the front of his shirt with his good hand and pulled him down.  
  
Soft lips, rough beard, warm tongue against his. He chased Thorin’s breath back into his mouth, clutching his fingers into the short hair atop his head, and kissed him as if it were paramount that their mouths never part.


End file.
